The girl looked both glad and sorry, but her father's nose was twitching with amusement and his eyes twinkling in their gold frames. "You did well to take what you could get," said he, lowering his voice so that nothing could be heard across the road. "Writing for your living means writing for your life, and that's no catch; but by Jove, Ringrose, you ought to get off some good things with such a capital safety-valve as boys always on hand! When you can't think of a rhyme, run round and box their ears till one comes. When you get a rejected manuscript, try hammering their knuckles with the ruler! Where's the school, Ringrose, and who keeps it?" Harry hung his head. "I am almost ashamed to tell you. It's a dame's school--at Teddington." "A dame's school at Teddington! Not Mrs. Bickersteth's?" "Yes--do you know it?" Harry had looked up in time to catch the other's expression, and it was a very singular one. The lad had never seen such a look on any other face, but on this face he had seen it once before. He had seen it in the train, during the journey back to London, on the day that he could never forget. It was the look that had afterwards struck him as a guilty look, though, to be sure, he had never thought about it from the moment when he took up his father's letter, and saw at a glance that it was genuine, until this one. "Do I know it?" echoed Lowndes, recovering himself. "Only by repute--only by repute. So you have gone there!" he added below his breath, strangely off his guard again in a moment. "Come," said Harry, "do you know something against the school, or what?" "Oh, dear, no; nothing against it, and very little about it," replied Lowndes. "Only the school is known in these parts--people in Richmond send their boys there--that is all. I have heard very good accounts of it. Are you the only master?" "No, there's a daily pedagogue, named Scrafton, who seems to be something of a character, but I haven't seen him yet. Do you know anything about him?" The question was innocently asked, for Harry's curiosity had been aroused by the repeated necessity of preventing the boys from opening their hearts to him about Mr. Scrafton. If he had stopped to think, he would have seen that he had the answer already--and Lowndes would not have lost his temper. "How should I know anything about him?" he cried. "Haven't I just asked you if you were the only master? Either your wits are deserting you, Ringrose, or you wish to insult me, my good fellow. In any case we must be pushing on, and so, I have no doubt, must you."