senior Dean, but
Suton and Hazlet were not even sent for. The Dean knew Suton well, and
felt that his character was a sufficient guarantee that he had not been
in any mischief; Hazlet had been irregular lately, but the Dean
considered him a very steady man, and overlooked for the present this
breach of rules.

Of course all Saint Werner's laughed over the story of Hazlet's
escapade. He did not know how to avoid the storm of ridicule which his
folly had stirred up. He had already begun to drop his "congenial
friends" for the more brilliant society to which Bruce had introduced
him, and so far from admitting that he felt any compunction, he
professed to regard the whole matter merely as "an amusing lark." Bruce
and the others hardly condescended to apologise, and at first Hazlet,
who found it impossible at once to remove all traces of the paint, and
who for a day or two felt thoroughly unwell, made a half-resolve to
resent their coolness. But now, deserted by his former associates, and
laughed at by the majority of men, he found the society of his tempters
indispensable for his comfort, and even cringed to them for the notice
which at first they felt inclined to withdraw.

"Wasn't that trick on Hazlet a disgraceful affair, Kennedy?" said
Julian, a few days after. "Some one told me you were at the supper
party; surely it can't be true."

"I was for about an hour," said Kennedy, blushing, "but I had left
before this took place."

"May I say it, Kennedy?--a friend's, a _brother's_ privilege, you know--
but it surprises me that you care to tolerate such company as that."

"Believe me, Julian, I don't enjoy it."

"Then why do you frequent it?"

Kennedy sighed deeply and was silent for a time; then he said--

"Not e'en the dearest heart, and next our own,
Knows half the reasons why we smile or sigh."

"True," said Julian; for he had long observed that some heavy weight lay
on Kennedy's mind, and with deep sorrow noticed that their intercourse
was less cordial, less frequent, less intimate than before. Not that he
loved Kennedy, or that Kennedy loved him less than of old, for, on the
contrary, Kennedy yearned more than ever for the full cherished
unreserve of their old friendship; but, alas there was not, there could
not be complete confidence between them, and where there is not
confidence, the pleasure of friendship grows dim and pale. And, besides
this, new tastes were growing up in Edward Kennedy, and,