‘Oh, nonsense! But one thing I do wish you would promise me. I’ve often thought of asking you before, but I was afraid it might seem like trying to entrap your youth and innocence.’ ‘What is it? Quick, tell me what it is!’ asked Hugo, his eyes ablaze with eagerness. ‘Well, it is this: that you will never, before you are one-and-twenty, take any very important step, without _telling_ me what you intend to do. I don’t say asking my permission. I trust too much to your honour and purity of heart to keep you from doing anything bad,’ he added, with a smile. ‘I would not harass and fetter you by any such stupid restriction; but, as I trust you, I want you to trust me. Don’t do anything important without telling me that you intend to do it, and giving me a chance to offer you a specimen of my superior wisdom, you know.’ ‘What a question! I swear it!’ said Hugo, enthusiastically. ‘As if I _could_ do anything without consulting you!’ ‘Not so fast!’ said his friend, laughing. ‘Wait till the time comes. I shall most likely seem then a wearisome old formalist, who----’ ‘_Never!_’ ‘But I tell you, it will be so, you obstinate young dog! There are temptations, Hugo, and you, with your temperament, will find them as hard to resist as if they were red-hot fiery hail. I am such a slow, phlegmatic sort of fellow. They don’t affect me in the same way. My temptations always come too late. By the time I begin to think I should like to do something either bad or idiotic, the chance is over, and I am saved. So I have got the reputation of being a very well-conducted sort of person, and not caring for the things other fellows care about.’ ‘At any rate, I solemnly give the promise you ask, and should have done so if it had been ten times as binding--and there’s my hand upon it,’ said Hugo, to whom the idea of binding himself to any particular thing, by ‘solemn oaths and execrations,’ was especially fascinating and delightful. It seemed to surround him and his friend with a little romance, and to separate them from the outer crowd. It opened up vague possibilities of self-denial, trial, and probation, and a prospect of endurance through good and evil, thick and thin, which delighted his ardent soul. ‘Then that is settled,’ said Sebastian, contentedly. ‘We can talk about your going away later.’ It was towards the close of this conversation that Sebastian had been called away to Myles Heywood--the day, therefore, before the ball at Castle Hill. On the following afternoon Sebastian had to go out. His mother asked him at lunch if he intended to go to the dance, and he said yes, he supposed he did--he must now, but he did not care about it, and did not think it was in very good taste to be having balls at such a time. Moreover, he had heard a rumour that Mr. Spenceley’s own affairs caused him some anxiety.