"He is a young man, and things wear their bright side to him. But he has a cordial way with him, and don't look at folks as if they was dirt." And that had been the origin of the _soirées_ held at Robert East's. By degrees ten or a dozen men took to going there, and--what was more--to like to go, and to find an interest in it. It was a great improvement upon the Horned Ram. CHAPTER XXII. HENRY ASHLEY'S OBJECT IN LIFE. On one of the warm, bright days that we sometimes have in the month of February, all the brighter from their contrast to the passing winter, William Halliburton was walking home to tea from the manufactory, and overtook Henry Ashley limping along. Henry was below the middle height, and slight in form, with the same beautiful face that had marked his boyhood, delicately refined in feature, brilliant in colour; the same upright lines of pain knit in the smooth white brow. "Just the man I wanted," said he, linking his arm within William's. "You are a good help up a hill, and I am hot and tired." "Wrapped up in that coat, with its fur lining, I should think you are! I have doffed my elegant cloak, you see, to-day." "Is it off to the British Museum?" William laughed. "I have not had time to pack it up." "I am glad I met you. You must come home to tea with me. Well? Why are you hesitating? You have no engagement?" "Nothing more than usual. My studies----" "You are study mad!" interrupted Henry Ashley. "What do you want to be? A Socrates? An Admirable Crichton?" "Nothing so formidable. I want to be useful." "And you make yourself accomplished, as a preliminary step to it. Mary took up the fencing-sticks for you yesterday. Herbert Dare was at our house--some freak is taking him to be a pretty constant visitor just now--and the talk turned upon Frank. You know," broke off Henry in his quaint way, "I never use long words when short ones will do: you learned ones would say 'conversation.' Mr. Keating had said to my father that Frank Halliburton was a brilliant scholar, and I retailed it to Herbert. I knew it would put him up, and there's nothing I like half so much as to _rile_ the Dares. Herbert sneered. 'And he owes it partly to William,' I went on, 'for if Frank's a brilliant scholar, William's a brilliant_er_!' 'William Halliburton a brilliant scholar!' stormed scornful Herbert. 'Has he learnt to be one at the manufactory? So long as he knows how gloves are made, that's enough for him. What does _he_ want with the requirements of gentlemen?' Up looked Miss Mary; her colour rising, her eyes flashing. She was at her drawing: at which, by the way, she makes no progress; nothing to be compared with Anna Lynn. 'William Halliburton has forgotten more than you ever learnt, Herbert Dare,' cried she; 'and there's more of the true gentleman in his little finger than there is in your whole body.' 'There's for you, Herbert Dare,' whistled I; 'but it's true, lad, like it or not as you may!' Herbert _was_ riled."