The letter which Harry Clayton found at his chambers was in answer to an advertisement in the _Times_; for, finding himself somewhat straitened for money, and, in his pride, determined not to apply to Richard Pellet, Harry had offered his services to read with some young patrician preparing for college. The result of the ensuing correspondence was, that he became what he termed bear-leader to one Lionel Redgrave, son of a wealthy baronet; the affair being quickly settled, and the old baronet, who had been favourably impressed by Harry's frank, manly bearing, warmly expressed his confidence that the result would be highly advantageous to his son. Harry knew that his expectations were good; but a growing distaste for the life at Norwood had kept him away more and more, so that, save for occasional visits paid for the sake of seeing his mother, there was very little communication kept up; and, judging from Richard Pellet's behaviour, it seemed likely that there would be less still in the future. So Harry eagerly made his arrangements, and a short time after, the young men were together in town, where Lionel Redgrave had determined to have chambers for the present, an arrangement in nowise distasteful to Harry Clayton, who passed his days in a state of feverish anxiety at Cambridge, in spite of his determination to read; telling himself that, after all, if he expected to win Patty, he ought not to cease to strive to see her, however unlucky he had hitherto been. He was to meet her soon though, little as he expected it, and in a way that should take him by surprise, so much so, that he returned from his encounter bitter and annoyed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was evening, and the roar of fashionable Regent Street came incessantly through the entresol window. Harry Clayton was reading, and Lionel Redgrave--a tall, well-made young fellow--was lolling back in his chair, smoking with all his might. Three or four times over the latter impatiently shifted his position, going through the performance of one who is terribly bored; but his fidgeting attracted no attention till, in a bluff loud voice, he exclaimed-- "My dear Harry, what a serious old cad you are! Throw away those books." "My dear Li, what a groomy individual you do make yourself! Throw that cigar away, and let's have a quiet evening's reading." "Likely! I shall just have another cigar, and then we'll go and see something. Open that window--there's a good fellow," and he leaned back in the lounge of their handsomely furnished room. Harry rose, opened the low window, admitting the loud rattle of the traffic, and then returned to his seat, which he drew nearer to his companion. "Look here," he said; but there was no reply; the young man only lay back with half-closed eyes, lit a fresh cigar, and luxuriously watched the blue rings of smoke curling up towards the ceiling.