," said I, painfully aware that Trimble and Langrish were
walking behind us critically; "that is, yes, a little."

I was glad when we reached the big gates, and were able to shake off the
enemy, who continued audible comments till I was out of earshot, and
finally went off on some new quest.

At Number 3, Bridge Street, I found myself, much to my discomfort, quite
a hero. Mrs Redwood, a gentle-looking lady, kissed me effusively, so
did little Miss Gwen, who having once begun could scarcely be prevailed
upon to leave off. The servants smiled approvingly, as did a lady
visitor, who shook me by the hand. The only person who did not appear
to rejoice to see me was the heroine of the occasion, Miss Mamie, who
declined altogether to kiss me, and added I was a naughty big boy to
spoil her nice sash, and ought to be sent to bed.

To her mother's protests and brother's encouragement she was quite
obdurate. No; she hated me, she said, for spoiling her nice sash, and
wild horses would not draw from her a contrary declaration.

After which we were summoned to tea, and I was consoled for this base
ingratitude by plum jam and "sally-lunn" and sultana cake and other
delicacies, which only a schoolboy, well on in the term, knows how fully
to appreciate.

The talk was limited; first because I made it a rule not to talk with my
mouth full, and secondly, because, had that difficulty been removed, I
had nothing to say. Redwood, fine fellow that he was, did not try to
pump me, and the ladies, who kept up most of the talk, most conveniently
worded their observations in such a form as not to call for a reply.

After tea, however, I did find myself talking to Mrs Redwood about my
mother, and presently to Redwood about Dangerfield and my previous
acquaintance with Tempest and Brown.

"Brown iii. is a town-boy," said the captain. "I wish we'd had him in.
Is he a member of your wonderful club, by the way?"

I blushed. Of course Redwood had seen that fatal document yesterday!

"Ah--well, you know, that is only for chaps in the school."

"Rather rough on us town-boys," said Redwood, with a laugh.

"I'm sure they'd be delighted to have you," said I.

"Ah, well, our fellows have a club of their own," said he, "although
they don't talk philosophy. By the way, is your Christian name
correctly printed?" asked he.

"Oh, no," said I; "that was Languish's fault. He says it was a
printer's error, but I'm sure he did it on purpose."