“I hear John has been distinguishing himself,” he said; and though he did not in the least intend it, there was something in his tone which made Mrs Mitford flush red to the edge of her hair, and raise herself stiffly on her seat. The truth was, John had been in competition with Fred more than once at college, and had not been held to have distinguished himself--which naturally drove his mother to arms at the first word. “Not anything particular that I am aware of,” she said, drawing herself up stiffly; “he always is the best son and the kindest heart in the world.” “But about Miss Crediton,” said Fred. “Oh, that was a mere accident,” said John’s mother. “You see he can’t help having a warm heart, and being so big and strong.” Fred was fully three inches shorter than John, and in this way at least he had never distinguished himself. “To be sure, that is an easy way of accounting for it,” he said, with much command of temper. “It must be very nice to be big and strong, especially when pretty girls and heiresses are in danger in one’s way.” “Is she an heiress?” said Mrs Mitford, with the most innocent face in the world. “Well, rather,” said Fred; and here the little passage of arms came to a close. “My sisters were very sorry they could not come,” he went on after an interval, during which he had been intently watching the two figures on the lawn. “They sent all kinds of messages, but I fear I have lost them on the way. They could scarcely have been more sorry had it been a dance--and what could a young lady say more?” “I wish they could have come,” said Mrs Mitford; and just then Lizzie came and whispered something in her ear. “Will you excuse me for two minutes, Mr Huntley? It is one of my poor people. I am so sorry to be rude, and go away.” Fred said something that was very polite, and went slowly towards the croquet-players as she left him. He thought Kate was very pretty--he had never seen her look so pretty. She was dressed in fresh muslin all but white, with her favourite blue ribbons, and looked so dainty, so refined, such a little princess beside John’s somewhat heavy large figure. Not but what he looked a gentleman too--but a rural gentleman, a heavy weight, and standing side by side with a creature made of sunshine and light. Fred Huntley had never admired Kate particularly heretofore, but he did that day, and wondered at himself. He sauntered up to them, watching their looks and movements, and stood by and criticised their play. “Miss Crediton, you have it all in your own hands,” he said. “He has not the heart to hit your ball. You have nothing to do but go in and win. My good fellow, I never saw such bad play!”