George laughed at the slip, pushed his trencher jauntily aside, and turned back whistling. Knots of the outdoor boys were advancing. Some shot past him with a bound; some stole by sheepishly, as if ashamed to cut him; others walked on deliberately and looked straightforward; a few gave him a hard, bold, insolent stare of non-recognition; and as he went by the quadrangle, the juniors, gathered there, turned their backs upon him. "It's an awful shame that they should send me to Coventry like this," soliloquized George. "If I thought any one of them set the rest on, wouldn't I leather him! Never mind, gentlemen, if I do get the Orville, you'll be more civil to me." He was dashing into Mr. Henry's room, when Mrs. Butter interposed, rather less crusty than usual. Mr. Henry was engaged at the moment; he must call again. "I'll wait in your kitchen, Mother Butter," said George, who rarely stood on ceremony. "Then you can't," answered Mother Butter, with more haste and decision than the case seemed to warrant. "I've got my saucepans on the fire, and you'd be upsetting of 'em. There. Be off." As if to end the colloquy, Mr. Henry's parlour door opened, and Miss Brabazon came forth. "Rely upon me," Mr. Henry said to her in a low tone: and George wondered. They went into the parlour together, the two brothers, and George delivered his sister's message, adding a comment of his own. "I'd give a guinea to know what's up." Mr. Henry pondered over it for a few minutes in silence, leaning his head upon his hand. His face was turned to the searching light of the meridian sun, and something unusually wan in its aspect struck George. "The better plan will be to declare all; to put away this semi-concealment altogether," observed Mr. Henry. "Mary must not be subjected to unpleasantness." "Only let me get the Orville," observed George, with a vain schoolboy's light boasting. "I'll crow over some of them then." "George!" "I know; you are all for meekness and peace. I _should_ like to pay off some of those fellows. Will you believe that I met half the classes coming here, and not a soul of the whole lot spoke to me? Something new is arising. I've seen it this week past." "I have seen it, too," was Mr. Henry's reply. "George, I used to say you would live this down by dint of time and patience; I thought just after you got back from France that the time had nearly come. But I have my doubts now. I wish I could have helped you better. Well, I'll think about this matter, George, and decide on something. You go home to your dinner now." Nothing loth to obey, for dinner was as welcome to him as it is to most schoolboys, George was quitting the room, when Mrs. Butter entered it, with a small tray, a basin of bread and milk on its white cloth. She put it before Mr. Henry and went out again. "I say," cried George, "that's not your dinner, is it? Why it's nothing but bread and milk!"