of indignation was
over, he felt half ashamed of it himself. On the afternoon of the day of
the party he had been at Grassy Spring, helping Mrs. St. Claire with her
flowers, and after his work was done he had gone with Dick into the
billiard-room, where they found Tom Tracy and his friend, young Raymond.
They had come over for a game, and the four boys were soon busily
engaged in the contest. Harold, who had often played with Dick and was
something of an expert, proved himself the most skilful of them all,
greatly to the chagrin of Tom, who had not recognized him even by a nod.
Dick, on the contrary, had introduced him to Fred Raymond with as much
ceremony as if he had been the Governor's son, instead of the boy who
sometimes worked in his mother's flower garden. And the Kentuckian had
taken him by the hand and greeted him cordially, with a familiar:

'How d'ye do, Hastings? Glad to make your acquaintance'

There was nothing snobbish about Fred Raymond, whose every instinct was
gentlemanly and kind, and Harold felt at ease with him at once, and all
through the game appeared at his best, and quite as well bred as either
of his companions.

When the play was over Dick excused himself a moment, as he wished to
speak with his father, who was about driving to town. As he stayed away
longer than he had intended doing, Tom grew restless and angry, too,
that Fred should treat Harold Hastings as an equal, for the two had at
once entered into conversation, comparing notes with regard to their
standing in school and discussing the merits of Cicero and Virgil, the
latter of which Harold had just commenced.

'We can't wait here all day for Dick,' Tom said. 'Let us go out and look
at the pictures.'

So they went down the stairs to a long hall, in which many pictures were
hanging--some family portraits and others, copies of the old masters
which Mr. St. Claire had brought from abroad. Near one of the portraits
Fred lingered a long time, commenting upon its beauty, and the
resemblance he saw in it to little Nina St. Claire, the daughter of the
house, and whose aunt the original had been. The portrait was not far
from the stairway which led to the billiard-room, and Harold, who had
remained behind, and was listlessly knocking the balls, could not help
hearing all they said:

'By the way, who is that Hastings? I don't think I have seen him before;
he is a right clever chap,' Fred Raymond said.

Tom replied, in that sneering, con