“What's the 'Member' plotting?” said Agincourt, coming up between them. “Do let _me_ into the plan.” “It is something he wishes to speak to _me_ about tomorrow at eleven o'clock,” said Layton, with a significant look at O'Shea, “and which is a matter strictly between ourselves.” “All right,” said Agincourt, turning back to the table again, while O'Shea, with a nod of assent, left the room. “We must set to work vigorously to-morrow, Henry,” said Layton, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. “You have fallen into idle ways, and the fault is all my own. For both our sakes, then, let us amend it.” “Whatever you like, Alfred,” said the boy, turning on him a look of real affection; “only never blame yourself if you don't make a genius of me. I was always a stupid dog!” “You are a true-hearted English boy,” muttered Layton, half to himself, “and well deserved to have fallen into more careful hands than mine. Promise me, however, all your efforts to repair the past.” “That I will,” said he, grasping the other's hand, and shaking it in token of his pledge. “But I still think,” said he, in a slightly broken voice, “they might have made a sailor of me; they 'll never make a scholar!” “We must get away; we must leave this,” said Layton, speaking half to himself. “I 'm sorry for it,” replied the boy. “I like the old villa, and I like Sir William and Charley, and the girls too. Ay, and I like that trout stream under the alders, and that jolly bit of grass land where we have just put up the hurdles. I say, Layton,” added he, with a sigh, “I wonder when shall we be as happy as we have been here?” “Who knows?” said Layton, sorrowfully. “I'm sure _I_ never had such a pleasant time of it in my life. Have you?” “_I_--I don't know,--that is, I believe not. I mean--never,” stammered out Layton, in confusion. “Ha! I fancied as much. I thought you didn't like it as well as _I_ did.” “Why so?” asked Layton, eagerly. “It was May put it into my head the other morning. She said it was downright cruelty to make you come out and stop here; that you could n't, with all your politeness, conceal how much the place bored you!” “She said this?” “Yes; and she added that if it were not for Clara, with her German lessons and her little Venetian barcarolles, you would have been driven to desperation.” “But you could have told her, Henry, that I delighted in this place; that I never had passed such happy days as here.” “I did think so when we knew them first, but latterly it seemed to me that you were somehow sadder and graver than you used to be. You didn't like to ride with us; you seldom came down to the river; you'd pass all the morning in the library; and, as May said, you only seemed happy when you were giving Clara her lesson in German.” “And to whom did May say this?” “To me and to Clara. “And Clara,--did she make any answer?”