"Why not?" said Bruce, who considered himself very fascinating, and quite a person whose society was to be courted; "and if so, why does he come to our rooms?" Brogten might, perhaps, have thrown light on the subject had he chosen. "Well," he said, "I'll give him a hint." "Do; and get him to ask De Vayne." Brogten did so; Kennedy assented to asking Bruce, though he listened to Brogten's hints, (which he instantly understood), with a sullenness which but a short time before had no existence, not even a prototype, in his bright and genial character. But when it came to asking De Vayne, he simply replied to Brogten's suggestion flatly: "I will not." "Won't you? but why?" "Why? because I suspect you and that fellow Bruce of wishing to treat him as you treated Hazlet." "I've no designs against him whatever." "Well, I won't ask him,--that's flat." "Whew-ew-ew-ew-ew!" Brogten began to whistle, and Kennedy relieved his feelings by digging the poker into the fire. And then there was a pause. "I want you to ask De Vayne." "And I tell you I won't ask him." "Whew-w-w-w!" Another long whistle, during which Kennedy mashed and battered the black lumps that smouldered in the grate. "Whew-ew-ew-ew! Oh, very well." Brogten left the room. At hall that day, Brogten took care to sit near Kennedy again, and the old scene was nearly re-enacted. He turned the conversation to the Christmas examination. "I suppose you'll be very high again, Kennedy." "No," said he, curtly. "I've not read, and you know that as well as I do." "Oh, but you hadn't read much last time, and you may do some particular paper very well, you know. I wish there was an Aeschylus paper; you might be first, you know, again." Kennedy flung down his knife and fork with a curse, and left the hall. Men began to see clearly that there must have been some mystery attached to the Aeschylus paper, known to Brogten and Kennedy, and very discomfiting to the latter. But as _Kennedy_ was concerned, they did not suspect the truth. Brogten went straight from hall to Kennedy's rooms. He found the door sported, but knew as well as possible that Kennedy was in. He hammered and thumped at the door a long time with sundry imprecations, but Kennedy, moodily resolute, heard all the noise inside, and would not stir. Then Brogten took out a card and wrote on the back, "I think you'll ask De Vayne," and dropped it into the letter-box. That evening he found in his own letter-box a slip of paper. "De Vayne is coming to wine with me to-morrow. Come, and the foul fiend take you. _I have filled my decanters half-full of water_, and won't bring out more than one bottle. E K." Brogten read the note and chuckled,--partly with the thought of Kennedy, partly of Bruce, partly of De Vayne. Yet the chuckle ended in a very heavy sigh. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. KENNEDY'S WINE-PARTY, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.