Ten times a day he said to himself that it _ought not_ to be. He was quite honest in thinking this: he believed he was just; for he saw things with a jaundiced eye. The son of the man who had so signally failed in his duty to the world in general, and to his father and Mr. Loftus in particular, was out of place in Orville College, the associate of honest gentlemen. It had however pleased Dr. Brabazon to keep him in it, and Trace thought himself worthy of a gold medal at least for having buried the secret of the past from the school. The far-famed duel in Boulogne had become public property, to the raging mortification of the two duellists, who were chaffed unmercifully, and grew to wish that duels had never been invented. The rescue of Dick Loftus also spread from mouth to mouth, and Paradyne was lauded as some young god descended from Olympus. All so much heart-burning for Trace. He had bitterly rebelled at the favour shown to Paradyne in Boulogne, asking what brought him there at all; what right he had there. He seemed fated to be haunted by this Paradyne everywhere: a second case of Faust and Mephistopheles. All that was bad enough, but Trace, doing violence to his own feelings, had passed it over. What, he began to ask himself now, was—ought this fellow, this waif of ill-descent, to be allowed to go in for the great Orville prize—the prize that all were burning to gain, either for the honour or the money. Trace pondered the question very seriously, and meanwhile fanned the ill-feeling against Paradyne, which had been buried, into a smouldering heat, that might burst at any moment up in a flame. He fanned something else—and, that was, a vague rumour reflecting on Mr. Henry. That gentleman's name became connected with Miss Paradyne's in anything but a pleasant manner: but as yet only by hints and innuendoes; the school had got hold of nothing tangible. Bertie Loftus asked Trace what the matter was, but Trace did not define it. "A bad lot, those Paradynes," he answered, drawing down the corners of his respectable lips: "and the German is in league with them." A terrible score had Trace against Mr. Henry, if only from the fact that he continued to assist, or, as Trace phrased it, to coach Paradyne: but for that, Paradyne had never stood a chance of wresting the Orville prize from deserving fingers. And so, in this uncomfortable and uncertain state, the time went on. One afternoon when October was passing, and the great day of decision, the first of November, was drawing near, it happened that in a very difficult Greek lesson, Trace did badly, Paradyne markedly well. They were before the Head Master, and he said a few rather sharp words to Trace, whose failure he attributed to carelessness, about allowing one younger to outstrip him. "You'll stand no chance against him, Trace, if you can't do better than this," added the doctor. Perhaps he spoke lightly, without much thought; but Trace took the words to his heart and let them rankle there.