just then rather bored with him. He had stopped
being a pretty boy, and she rather doubted whether she would see him
through. But she was so raged with the letters of the schoolmaster, and
so delighted with those of the criminal, that she had him back and gave
him a prize.

"No," said Agnes, "I didn't know. I should be happy to speak to Herbert,
but, as I said, his time will be very full. But I know he has friends
who make a speciality of weakly or--or unusual boys."

"My dear, I've tried it. Stephen kicked the weakly boys and robbed
apples with the unusual ones. He was expelled again."

Agnes began to find Mrs. Failing rather tiresome. Wherever you trod on
her, she seemed to slip away from beneath your feet. Agnes liked to know
where she was and where other people were as well. She said: "My brother
thinks a great deal of home life. I daresay he'd think that Mr. Wonham
is best where he is--with you. You have been so kind to him. You"--she
paused--"have been to him both father and mother."

"I'm too hot," was Mrs. Failing's reply. It seemed that Miss Pembroke
had at last touched a topic on which she was reticent. She rang the
electric bell,--it was only to tell the footman to take the reprints to
Mr. Wonham's room,--and then murmuring something about work, proceeded
herself to the house.

"Mrs. Failing--" said Agnes, who had not expected such a speedy end to
their chat.

"Call me Aunt Emily. My dear?"

"Aunt Emily, what did you think of that story Rickie sent you?"

"It is bad," said Mrs. Failing. "But. But. But." Then she escaped,
having told the truth, and yet leaving a pleasurable impression behind
her.

XII

The excursion to Salisbury was but a poor business--in fact, Rickie
never got there. They were not out of the drive before Mr. Wonham began
doing acrobatics. He showed Rickie how very quickly he could turn round
in his saddle and sit with his face to Aeneas's tail. "I see," said
Rickie coldly, and became almost cross when they arrived in this
condition at the gate behind the house, for he had to open it, and was
afraid of falling. As usual, he anchored just beyond the fastenings, and
then had to turn Dido, who seemed as long as a battleship. To his relief
a man came forward, and murmuring, "Worst gate in the parish," pushed it
wide and held it respectfully. "Thank you," cried Rickie; "many
thanks." But Stephen, who was riding into the world back first, said
majestically, "No, no; it doesn't coun