One day Wilfred went to the post-office to purchase stamps, and, entering the shop, saw Betsey Slocombe and Augustus Cubleigh in the little compartment which shut out the letter department from the groceries. The two were laughing and talking together very confidentially, and occasionally burst out laughing as they examined the letters one by one. Presently Cubleigh exclaimed, “Look here, Betsey, here’s one of that muff Manwaring’s letters; I wonder what he’s got to say to his sister, he writes to her twice a week, I declare;” and so saying, he held the letter close to the window on his left hand, and tried to make out through the envelope what was written inside. In a moment Wilfred had leaped over the counter, and had seized the letter out of Cubleigh’s hands. “Look here, Cubleigh,” he cried with flashing eyes, “don’t let me see you touching a letter of mine in that way again. It’s a sneaking, blackguardly action which you are committing; you’ve no business among the letters at all, and if I see you there again, I’ll give you the soundest thrashing you ever had in your life. Letters are sacred amongst _gentlemen_.” The Honourable Augustus seemed thoroughly cowed by this address, and by the demeanour of the speaker, and his green eyes glared furtively, like those of a cat caught stealing cream. “I beg your pardon, Manwaring,” he said at length, as he sneaked round the end of the counter into the shop, “but really you needn’t be so fierce. I was only helping Betsey to stamp the letters;” and so saying, he walked out of the shop. The next moment the postmaster entered. “What’s all this row about, Bet, my gal?” he said, addressing his daughter. “It means this, Mr. Slocombe,” said Wilfred, before the girl could reply, “that if ever again I find anyone with your daughter tampering with the letters, I will write to the Postmaster-General and get you turned out of the place;” and so saying, he left the shop abruptly. After this circumstance, as has already been mentioned, a greater coldness than ever prevailed between the two lads; but Wilfred, at all events, was not of a disposition to bear malice, and so the quarrel was patched up, and before long the two were, at least outwardly, on civil, if not on friendly terms. CHAPTER VII. THE FALL OF WILFRED.