A pair of beautiful long-tailed ponies, drawing a low four-wheeled open carriage, came round the gravel sweep with a quiet dash. The driver was a well-grown youth, who had entered his eighteenth year. He had high, prominent features of an aquiline cast, and large sleepy blue eyes: a handsome face, certainly, but spoilt by its look of pride. His attention during his short drive—for they had not come far—had been absorbed by his ponies and by his own self-importance as he drove them. It was one of the senior boys, Albert Loftus. By his side sat another of the seniors, a cousin, Raymond Trace, a quiet-looking youth of no particular complexion, and his light eyes rather sunk in his head; eyes that he had a habit of screwing together when at his studies. He had been reading a book all the way, never once looking up at his cousin, or the road, or the ponies, and answering in civil monosyllables when spoken to. Behind sat another college boy, younger, Master Dick Loftus. Master Dick possessed very little pride indeed, and was a contrast to his brother. He had amused himself, coming along, with a pea-shooter, and hung out a flag behind—all to the happy ignorance of the driver and Mr. Trace. A groom in plain livery, nearly bursting with suppressed laughter, made the fourth in the pretty carriage. "Well, Loftus, I'm very glad to see you: you're rather late, though, considering you are so close," was the doctor's greeting. "How are you, Trace? Dick, you rebel, I hope we shall have no trouble this term." The doctor laughed as he said it. Dick, a red-faced good-humoured boy, met the hand and laugh readily. He knew he was a favourite, with all his faults. "Sir Simon's compliments to you, sir, and he will do himself the pleasure of calling shortly," said Mr. Loftus. "Dick, take those things away." Mr. Loftus had slightly altered the phraseology of the message: "My respects to Dr. Brabazon, and I'll give him a look in soon," was the one sent. The groom had been depositing a few things on the ground, and Dick was loading himself, when a close carriage drove in. A lady sat inside it in solitary state, and a young gentleman sat on the roof backwards. "Halloa! It's Onions!" The remark came from Mr. Dick Loftus. He dropped the things summarily, went out, and began a dance in honour of the new arrival. Loftus the elder seized on a square parcel done up in brown paper, and disappeared, leaving the other things to their fate. "Onions" got down by the chariot wheel, and shook hands with Dick.