Randal took alarm, passed by him, and touched him meaningly.

The squire pressed his son to his heart,--heart so large, that it seemed
to fill the whole width under his broadcloth. "My dear Frank," said he,
half blubbering, "it is not the money; but, you see, it so vexes your
poor mother; you must be careful in future; and, zounds, boy, it will be
all yours one day; only don't calculate on it; I could not bear that, I
could not, indeed."

"Calculate!" cried Frank. "Oh, sir, can you think it?"

"I am so delighted that I had some slight hand in your complete
reconciliation with Mr. Hazeldean," said Randal, as the young men walked
from the hotel. "I saw that you were disheartened, and I told him to
speak to you kindly."

"Did you? Ah--I am sorry he needed telling."

"I know his character so well already," said Randal, "that I flatter
myself I can always keep things between you as they ought to be. What an
excellent man!"

"The best man in the world," cried Frank, heartily; and then, as his
accents drooped, "yet I have deceived him. I have a great mind to go
back--"

"And tell him to give you twice as much money as you had asked for? He
would think you had only seemed so affectionate in order to take him in.
No, no, Frank! save, lay by, economize; and then tell him that you have
paid half your own debts. Something high-minded in that."

"So there is. Your heart is as good as your head. Goodnight."

"Are you going home so early? Have you no engagements!"

"None that I shall keep."

"Good-night, then."

They parted, and Randal walked into one of the fashionable clubs. He
neared a table where three or four young men (younger sons, who lived in
the most splendid style, Heaven knew how) were still over their wine.

Leslie had little in common with these gentlemen, but he forced his
nature to be agreeable to them, in consequence of a very excellent piece
of worldly advice given to him by Audley Egerton. "Never let the dandies
call you a prig," said the statesman. "Many a clever fellow fails
through life, because the silly fellows, whom half a word well spoken
could make his claqueurs, turn him into ridicule. Whatever you are,
avoid the fault of most reading men: in a word, don't be a prig!"

"I have just left Hazeldean," said Randal. "What a good fellow he is!"

"Capital!" said the Honourable George Borrowell. "Where is he?"

"Why, he is gone to his rooms. He has had a little scene with his
father, a thorough,