Then the safety and soundness of Blanche’s heart was scarcely more a matter of anxiety than that of Charlie’s body; and the boy seemed to take a ghastly delight in placing himself constantly in situations of imminent bodily peril. Active and high-spirited, he was perpetually climbing inaccessible places, shooting with dangerous guns, riding wild hacks, overheating himself in matches against time, and, greatest anxiety of all, performing aquatic feats--the principal result of his Eton education--_out of his depth_, as his aunt observed with emphasis, which were totally inexcusable as manifest temptations of fate. He was now gone off on an expedition with his friend and senior, Hardingstone; but well did Mrs. Kettering know that yonder blue, cool-looking sea would be an irresistible temptation, and that her nephew would “bundle in,” as he called it, to a moral certainty, the instant he got away from the prying gaze of the town. “In the meantime,” thought she, “it’s a comfort to have Blanche safe at her studies; there is nothing like occupation for the mind to keep foolish fancies out of a young girl’s head; so bring your books down here, my love,” she added, aloud, “and after we have read the last act of ‘Don Carlos,’ you can practise your music, while I rest myself a little on the sofa.” With all its beauties, “Don Carlos” is a work of which a few pages go a long way, when translated into their own vernacular by two ladies who have but a slight acquaintance with the German language; and Blanche soon tired of the princely step-son’s more than filial affection, and the guttural warmth with which it is expressed; so she drew mamma’s sofa to the open window, shut the door to keep her out of the draught, and sat down to her pianoforte with an arch “Good-night, mammy; you won’t hear any of my mistakes, so I shall play my lesson over as fast as ever I can.”