isn't it?" he remarked to
Rickie. Rickie, who was trying not to mind anything, assented. And an
onlooker would have supposed them a dispassionate trio, who were sorry
both for Mrs. Failing and for the beggar who would bestride her horses'
backs no longer. A new topic was introduced by the arrival of the
evening post.

Herbert took up all the letters, as he often did.

"Jackson?" he exclaimed. "What does the fellow want?" He read, and his
tone was mollified, "'Dear Mr. Pembroke,--Could you, Mrs. Elliot, and
Mr. Elliot come to supper with us on Saturday next? I should not merely
be pleased, I should be grateful. My wife is writing formally to Mrs.
Elliot'--(Here, Agnes, take your letter),--but I venture to write as
well, and to add my more uncouth entreaties.'--An olive-branch. It is
time! But (ridiculous person!) does he think that we can leave the House
deserted and all go out pleasuring in term time?--Rickie, a letter for
you."

"Mine's the formal invitation," said Agnes. "How very odd! Mr. Ansell
will be there. Surely we asked him here! Did you know he knew the
Jacksons?"

"This makes refusal very difficult," said Herbert, who was anxious to
accept. "At all events, Rickie ought to go."

"I do not want to go," said Rickie, slowly opening his own letter. "As
Agnes says, Ansell has refused to come to us. I cannot put myself out
for him."

"Who's yours from?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Silt," replied Herbert, who had seen the handwriting. "I trust
she does not want to pay us a visit this term, with the examinations
impending and all the machinery at full pressure. Though, Rickie, you
will have to accept the Jacksons' invitation."

"I cannot possibly go. I have been too rude; with Widdrington we always
meet here. I'll stop with the boys--" His voice caught suddenly. He had
opened Mrs. Silt's letter.

"The Silts are not ill, I hope?"

"No. But, I say,"--he looked at his wife,--"I do think this is going too
far. Really, Agnes."

"What has happened?"

"It is going too far," he repeated. He was nerving himself for another
battle. "I cannot stand this sort of thing. There are limits."

He laid the letter down. It was Herbert who picked it up, and read:
"Aunt Emily has just written to us. We are so glad that her troubles are
over, in spite of the expense. It never does to live apart from one's
own relatives so much as she has done up to now. He goes next Saturday
to Canada. What you told her about him just turned the