n on the way from the boats,"
said Tom.

"And at night, too?" said Hardy.

"No," said Tom, "but I don't go there after drinking wine; I
haven't been to a wine these ten days, at least not for more than
five minutes."

"Well, sound ale is better than Oxford wine," said Hardy, "if you
must drink something;" and so the subject dropped.

And Tom went away satisfied that Hardy had not disapproved of his
new habit. It certainly occurred to him that he had omitted all
mention of the pretty barmaid in his enumeration of the
attractions of "The Choughs," but he set down to mere accident;
it was a slip which he would set right in their next talk. But
that talk never came, and the subject was not again mentioned
between them. In fact, to tell the truth, Tom's visits to his
friend's rooms in the evenings became shorter and less frequent
as "The Choughs" absorbed more and more of his time. He made
excuses to himself, that Hardy must be glad of more time, and
would be only bored if he kept dropping in every night, now that
the examination for degree was so near; that he was sure he drove
Grey away, who would be of much more use to Hardy just now.
These, and many other equally plausible reasons, suggested
themselves whenever his conscience smote him for his neglect, as
it did not seldom. But he always managed to satisfy himself
somehow, without admitting the real fact, that these visits were
no longer what they had been to him; that a gulf had sprung up,
and was widening day by day between him and the only friend who
would have had the courage and honesty to tell him the truth
about his new pursuit. Meantime Hardy was much pained at the
change in his friend, which _he_ saw quickly enough, and often
thought over it with a sigh as he sat at his solitary tea. He set
it down to his own dullness, to the number of new friends such a
sociable fellow as Tom was sure to make, and who, of course,
would take up more and more of his time; and, if he felt a little
jealousy every now and then, put it resolutely back, struggling
to think no evil, or if there were any, to lay it on his own
shoulders.

Cribbage is a most virtuous and respectable game, and yet
scarcely, one would think, possessing in itself sufficient
attractions to keep a young gentleman in his twentieth year tied
to the board, and going through the quaint calculation night
after night of "fifteen two, fifteen four, two for his nob, and
one for his heels." The old lady of "T