bject were characterized by a laughing satire which
played around men and things like summer lightning, and by the time
they had reached Lord Botetourt's statue, Mowbray was completely
silent. He listened.

CHAPTER XII.

HOW HOFFLAND CAUGHT A TARTAR IN THE PERSON OF MISS LUCY'S LOVER.

The day was not to end as quietly as Mowbray dreamed, and we shall now
proceed to relate the incidents which followed this conversation.

Upon the smooth-shaven lawn, at various distances from each other,
were stretched parties of students, who either bent their brows over
volumes of Greek or Latin--or interchanged merry conversation, which
passed around like an elastic ball--or leaning their heads upon
overturned chairs, suffered to curl upward from their lazy lips white
wreaths of smoke which turned to floods of gold in the red sunset,
while the calm pipe-holders dreamed of that last minuet and the blue
eyes shrining it in memory, then of the reel through which she darted
with such joyous sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks--and so went on and
dreamed and sighed, then sighed and dreamed again. We are compelled to
add that the devotees of conversation and the dreamers outnumbered the
delvers into Greek and Latin, to a really deplorable degree.

It is so difficult to study out upon the grass which May has filled
with flowers--so very easy to lie there and idly talk or dream!

Through these groups Mowbray and his friend took their way, noticed
only with a careless glance by the studious portion when their shadows
fell upon the open volumes--not at all by the talkers--and scarcely
more by the dreamers, who lazily moved their heads as smokers only
can--with a silent protest, that is to say, at having their reveries
disturbed, and being compelled to take such enormous trouble and
exertion.

As Mowbray was about to ascend the steps beyond the statue, a young
man came down and greeted him familiarly.

Mowbray turned round and said:

"Mr. Denis, are you acquainted with Mr. Hoffland?"

And then the new-comer and the young student courteously saluted each
other, smiled politely, and shook hands.

"Stay till I come back, Charles," said Mowbray; "you and Denis can
chat under the tree yonder--and he will tell you whether Roseland can
accommodate a guest. He has staid with me more than once."

With which words Mowbray passed on.

Hoffland looked at his companion; and a single glance told him all he
wished to know. Jack Denis--for he