st see the mountain.

Nor did he by any means enjoy the constant round of entertainments which
went on in London, at which he was sometimes called upon in a humble way
to assist. He had been obliged, in deference to Mrs Rimbolt's broad
hints, to buy a dress suit, and in this he was expected on occasions to
present himself at the end of a grand dinner-party, or when Mr Rimbolt
required his professional attendance.

For, there being no books to take care of here, Mr Rimbolt availed
himself of his librarian's services as a private secretary in some
important political business, and found him so efficient and willing,
that he proposed to him a considerable increase in his salary, in
consideration of his permanently undertaking a good share of his
employer's ordinary correspondence.

The chief portion of Jeffreys' time, however, still belonged to Percy,
and it was a decided relief to him that that young gentleman scoffed at
and eschewed the endless hospitalities and entertainments with which his
mother delighted to fill up their life in London.

"I don't see the fun of gorging night after night, do you, Jeff? A good
spread's all very well now and again, but you get sick of it seven
nights a week. Makes me sleepy. Then all these shows and things! I've
a good mind to get laid up again, and have a real good time. There's to
be no end of a crowd here to-night--everybody. I shall cut it if I can;
shan't you?"

"Mr Rimbolt wants me to come into the drawing-room after dinner," said
Jeffreys.

"All serene! That won't be till nine. Come up to Putney, and have a
row on the river this afternoon."

Percy was an enthusiastic oarsman, and many an afternoon Jeffreys and
he, flying from the crowd, had spent on the grand old Thames. Jeffreys
enjoyed it as much as he, and no one, seeing the boy and his tutor
together in their pair-oar, would have imagined that the broader of the
two was that ungainly lout who had once been an object of derision in
the Bolsover meadows.

The party that evening was, as Percy predicted, a very large one, and
Jeffreys had the discomfort of recognising a few of the guests who last
autumn had helped to make his position so painful.

They, to do them justice, did not now add to his discomfort by
recognising him. Even the lady who had given him that half-crown
appeared wholly to have forgotten the object of her charity.

What, however, made him most uncomfortable was the sight of Mrs Scarfe,
a