mility.

"If you like," said Kennedy.

He stayed to tea, and talked about all kinds of subjects rather than the
one which was prominent in the thoughts of both. He told Kennedy old
Harton stories, and asked him about Marlby; he turned the subject to
Home, and really interested Kennedy by telling him what kind of a boy
Julian had been, and what inseparable friends he had always been with
Lillyston, and how admirably he had recited on speech-day, and how
stainless his whole life had been, and how vice and temptation seemed to
skulk away at his very look.

"You are reconciled to him, then," said Kennedy in surprise.

"Oh, yes. At heart, I always respected him. He wasn't a fellow to take
the worst view of one's character, you know, or to make nasty
innuendoes--" He stopped, and eyed Kennedy as a parrot eyes a finger put
into his cage, which he _could_ peck if he would. "He wasn't, you know,
a kind of fellow who would force you to leave the table by sneering at
you in hall--" He still continued to eye Kennedy, but in vain, for
Kennedy kept his moody glance on the table and was silent, and would not
look at him or speak to him. Brogten could not help being struck with
his appearance as he sat there motionless,--the noble and perfectly
formed head, the well-cut features, the cheek a little pale now, so
boyishly smooth and round, the latent powers of fire and sarcasm and
strength in the bright eye and beautiful lip. It was a base source of
triumph that made Brogten exult in the knowledge that this youth was in
his power; that he held for a time at least the strings of his happiness
or misery; that at any time by a word in any public place he could bring
on his fine features that hue of shame; that for his own purposes he
could at any time ruin his reputation, and put an end to his popularity.

Not that he intended to do so. He had the power, but unless provoked,
he did not wish or mean to use it. It was far more luxurious to keep it
to himself, and use it as occasion might serve. Everybody's secret is
nobody's secret, and it was enough for Brogten to enjoy privately the
triumph he had longed for, and which accident had put into his hands.

"Come, come, Kennedy," he said, "this is nonsense; we understand each
other. I saw you coolly read over the whole examination-paper, you
know, which wasn't the most honourable thing in the world to do--"

He paused and half relented as he saw a solitary tear on Kennedy's
chee