“My dear boy, don’t make pretty speeches; for I can stand anything but that,” was the reply. “As to staying here, I had no thought of going away till you had done with me. In regard to being bored, I’m getting over that beautifully. Your family are charming people. I’m becoming used to women’s society, and, in fact, find it’s not by any means as bad as imagination painted it; and when D’Almayne is fairly out of the house, I really shall not care how long I remain in it; so will that satisfy you?” “My dear fellow,” rejoined Hazlehurst, warmly, “there’s nobody like you in the world! I’ve always said so, from the day that I first set eyes on you at Eton, when you thrashed the bully of the form for striking me, and then boxed my ears because I took a blow from a boy less than myself, without returning it. I shall never quite turn misanthrope while I’ve you for a friend.” “Misanthrope! no, why should you?” was the surprised rejoinder. “What ails you, man?--you look ill and unhappy. It’s nothing in the money way, is it? I’ve got a few odd thousands lying idle at my bankers, that I should really be obliged to you to make use of.” Hazlehurst shook his friend’s hand heartily. “God bless you, old fellow! I know you would.” he said; “but money can’t help me: I must fight it out alone. I shall be myself again by the time I return--till then, good-by,” and wringing Coverdale’s hand once more, he turned and was gone. “Alice, here’s a treat! everybody’s going away except that horrid Harry Coverdale!” exclaimed Emily, in a tone of despair; “we shall have him on our hands, talking stable, and wishing we were dogs and horses, for a whole week! What are we to do with the creature?” Alice turned her head to hide her heightened colour, as she replied, in a tone of voice that was almost cross, “Really, Emily, you should be careful not to carry that absurd habit of yours of laughing at everybody too far. People will begin to call you flippant. Mr. Coverdale is so good-natured that he is the easiest person in the world to entertain. Surely, Arthur has a right to ask his friend to remain here without consulting you or me on the subject.” “Phew!” whistled Emily, and a droll little parody of a whistle it was; “the wind has changed, has it? I suppose that was the thunder-storm yesterday; not to mention a certain _tête-à-tête_ drive. Take care, Ally: recollect that sweet bird the Crane! what does the song say?” and popping herself down at the pianoforte, she ran her fingers lightly over the keys, as she sang with mischievous archness: “’Tis good to be merry and wise, ’Tis good to be honest and true, ’Tis good to be off with the _old_ love Before you are on with the new.”