p to
Mr. Darrell ingenuously, and apologized for the deficiencies of his
itinerant wardrobe. "Say the truth," said his host; "you thought you
were coming to an old churl, with whom ceremony was misplaced."

"Indeed no!" exclaimed Lionel. "But--but I have so lately left school."

"Your mother might have thought for you."

"I did not stay to consult her, indeed, sir; I hope you are not
offended."

"No, but let me not offend you if I take advantage of my years and our
relationship to remark that a young man should be careful not to let
himself down below the standard of his own rank. If a king could bear
to hear that he was only a ceremonial, a private gentleman may remember
that there is but a ceremonial between himself and--his hatter!"

Lionel felt the colour mount his brow; but Darrell pressing the
distasteful theme no further, and seemingly forgetting its purport,
turned his remarks carelessly towards the weather. "It will be fair
to-morrow: there is no mist on the hill yonder. Since you have a painter
for a friend, perhaps you yourself are a draughtsman. There are some
landscape effects here which Fairthorn shall point out to you."

"I fear, Mr. Darrell," said Lionel, looking down, "that to-morrow I must
leave you."

"So soon? Well, I suppose the place must be very dull."

"Not that--not that; but I have offended you, and I would not repeat
the offence. I have not the 'ceremonial' necessary to mark me as a
gentleman,--either here or at home."

"So! Bold frankness and ready wit command ceremonials," returned
Darrell, and for the first time his lip wore a smile. "Let me present
to you Mr. Fairthorn," as the door, opening, showed a shambling awkward
figure, with loose black knee-breeches and buckled shoes. The figure
made a strange sidelong bow; and hurrying in a lateral course, like a
crab suddenly alarmed, towards a dim recess protected by a long table,
sank behind a curtain fold, and seemed to vanish as a crab does amidst
the shingles.

"Three minutes yet to dinner, and two before the lettercarrier goes,"
said the host, glancing at his watch. "Mr. Fairthorn, will you write a
note for me?" There was a mutter from behind the curtain. Darrell walked
to the place, and whispered a few words, returned to the hearth, rang
the bell. "Another letter for the post, Mills: Mr. Fairthorn is sealing
it. You are looking at my book-shelves, Lionel. As I understand
that your master spoke highly of you, I presume that you