onical.

'I declare,' grumbled Henry, as he examined the remaining amount of
damage, 'these day-schools are a great inconvenience; there's no
keeping a place fit to be seen with a great uncivilized lad always
hanging about!'

'Leonard is considered particularly gentlemanlike,' said Ave, with lips
compressed, to keep back something about old bachelors.

'Now, I should have thought a lady would have some regard to her own
drawing-room, and object to slovenliness--elbows on table, feet
everywhere!'

'Nothing is in worse taste than constraint,' said Ave from the corners
of her mouth--'at least for those that can trust their manners without
it.'

'I tell you, Ave, you are spoiling the boy. He is more conceited than
ever since the Mays noticed him.'

'Leonard conceited!'

'Yes; he is getting as stuck up as Tom May himself--your model I
believe!'

'I thought he was yours!'

'Mine?'

'Yes; you always seem to aim at a poor imitation of him.'

There was a blushing angry stammer in reply; and she suppressed her
smile, but felt triumphant in having hit the mark. Unready at retort,
he gathered himself up, and said: 'Well, Ave, I have only this to say,
that if you choose to support that boy in his impertinences, there will
be no bearing it; and I shall see what I shall do.'

Seeing what shall be done is a threat stimulating to some, but
appalling to others; and Averil was of the latter class, with no desire
for such a spectacle, be it what it might. She did not apologize for
the trifle--possible ink, a spot of wax, a borrowed book, were far
beneath an apology; but she made up her mind to humour Henry's follies
magnanimously, and avoid collisions, like an admirable peace-maker. As
soon as bed-time came, she repaired to Leonard's room; and Henry, as he
went along the passage, heard the two young voices ringing with
laughter! Her retort had been particularly delightful to Leonard.
'That's right, Ave! I'm glad you set him down, for I thought
afterwards whether I ought not to have stood by you, only his way of
pitching into me through you puts me into such a rage: I shall do
something desperate some day!'

'Never mind it, Leonard; it does not hurt me; and if it did, I should
like to bear a great deal for you.'

'That's all the wrong way,' said Leonard, smiling affectionately.

'No; men do and women suffer.'

'That's trite!' said Leonard, patting her fondly. 'I like you to
do--as you call it--Miss May does, an