te it is, and how
beautifully he parts it!'

'What a graceful figure!' murmured Mrs. Warricombe, with genuine
admiration.

'There, that's just what he hopes everyone is saying,' replied her son,
in a tone of laughing disgust.

'But he certainly is graceful, Buckland,' persisted the lady.

'And in the meantime,' remarked Mr. Warricombe, drily, 'we are all
awaiting the young gentleman's pleasure.'

'Of course; he enjoys it. Almost all the people on that row belong to
him--father, mother, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, and cousins to
the fourth degree. Look at their eyes fondly fixed upon him! Now he
pretends to loosen his collar at the throat, just for a change of
attitude--the puppy!'

'My dear!' remonstrated his mother, with apprehensive glance at her
neighbours.

'But he is really clever, isn't he, Buckland?' asked the sister, her
name was Sidwell.

'After a fashion. I shouldn't wonder if he takes a dozen or two prizes.
It's all a knack, you know.'

'Where is your friend Peak?' Mr. Warricombe made inquiry.

But at this moment Mr. Chilvers abandoned his endeavour and became
seated, allowing the Principal to rise, manuscript in hand. Buckland
leaned back with an air of resignation to boredom; his father bent
slightly forward, with lips close pressed and brows wrinkled; Mrs
Warricombe widened her eyes, as if hearing were performed with those
organs, and assumed the smile she would have worn had the speaker been
addressing her in particular. Sidwell's blue eyes imitated the movement
of her mother's, with a look of profound gravity which showed that she
had wholly forgotten herself in reverential listening; only when five
minutes' strict attention induced a sense of weariness did she allow a
glance to stray first along the professorial rank, then towards the
place where the golden head of young Chilvers was easily
distinguishable.

Nothing could be more satisfactory than the annual report summarised by
Principal Nares, whose mellifluous voice and daintily pedantic
utterance fell upon expectant hearing with the impressiveness of
personal compliment. So delivered, statistics partook of the grace of
culture; details of academic organisation acquired something more than
secular significance. In this the ninth year of its existence, Whitelaw
College was flourishing in every possible way. Private beneficence had
endowed it with new scholarships and exhibitions; the scheme of
lectures had been extended; the numb