When Wilfred Manwaring arrived at “Ehrenbreitstein,” he found two pupils in the house, another, Lord Montauburn, having left the previous term. The elder of these was the Honourable Augustus Cubleigh, only son and heir of the head of the great Banking firm, Cubleigh and Cubleigh, who, for services rendered at a critical period to the Government, had recently been created Lord Guttleborough of Hampstead, in the County of Middlesex. Cubleigh was a fat, languid, effeminate young fellow, with a pale, flabby face, full sensual lips, sandy-red hair, which he wore long, and furtive eyes of a greenish tint. He eschewed all manly games, professed himself to be æsthetic in his tastes, and consumed immense quantities of pastry and sweet stuff, for which he had previously acquired an inordinate taste at Harrow, on which account, and with a delicate reminiscence of the title of his noble father, his schoolfellows had distinguished him by the expressive and suggestive _soubriquet_ of “Young Guttles.” At the present time, he was in the receipt of an allowance by no means equal to the gratification of his tastes, for his extravagance at school had been great, and his father had determined to make an attempt to teach him economy. It may be doubted, however, whether the peer went the right way to work to attain that desirable end. The other pupil was the young Duke of Ribblesdale, a handsome, unaffected lad, full of high spirits and good temper, whom Wilfred had already known slightly at Eton. These two lads were delighted to renew each other’s acquaintance, and soon became fast and inseparable friends. This friendship soon excited the jealousy of Cubleigh, who was held by Ribblesdale in great contempt, and Mrs. Massenger, on more than one occasion in the silent watches of the night, expressed to her lord and master her surprise that the Duke should find anything to like in “that Manwaring.” The good lady, you see, spited Wilfred because he had no handle to his name, and made the common mistake of supposing that, to be of good blood, a man must needs be an aristocrat. “My love,” answered the Doctor of Philosophy, “it’s only human nature. As long as they are young, the children of the aristocracy would make mud puddings in a gutter with a pack of young beggars, if only you let ’em. Ribblesdale will learn wisdom when he grows older.”