Sir George spent a long day in his own company, and heedless that on the

surgeon's authority he passed abroad for a hard man and a dashed

unfeeling fellow, dined on Lord Lyttelton's 'Life of King Henry the

Second,' which was a new book in those days, and the fashion; and supped

on gloom and good resolutions. He proposed to call and inquire after his

antagonist at a decent hour in the morning, and if the report proved

favourable, to go on to Lord----'s in the afternoon.

But his suspense was curtailed, and his inquiries were converted into a

matter of courtesy, by a visit which he received after breakfast from

Mr. Thomasson. A glance at the tutor's smiling, unctuous face was

enough. Mr. Thomasson also had had his dark hour--since to be mixed up

with, a fashionable fracas was one thing, and to lose a valuable and

influential pupil, the apple of his mother's eye, was another; but it

was past, and he gushed over with gratulations.

'My dear Sir George,' he cried, running forward and extending his hands,

'how can I express my thankfulness for your escape? I am told that the

poor dear fellow fought with a fury perfectly superhuman, and had you

given ground must have ran you through a dozen times. Let us be thankful

that the result was otherwise.' And he cast up his eyes.

'I am,' Sir George said, regarding him rather grimly. 'I do not know

that Mr. Dunborough shares the feeling.' 'The dear man!' the tutor answered, not a whit abashed. 'But he is

better. The surgeon has extracted the ball and pronounces him out

of danger.' 'I am glad to hear it,' Soane answered heartily. 'Then, now I can get

away.' 'À volonté!' cried Mr. Thomasson in his happiest vein. And then with a

roguish air, which some very young men found captivating, but which his

present companion stomached with difficulty, 'I will not say that you

have come off the better, after all, Sir George,' he continued.

'Ah!' 'No,' said the tutor roguishly. 'Tut-tut. These young men! They will at

a woman by hook or crook.' 'So?' Sir George said coldly. 'And the latest instance?'

'His Chloe--and a very obdurate, disdainful Chloe at that--has come to

nurse him,' the tutor answered, grinning. 'The prettiest high-stepping

piece you ever saw, Sir George--that I will swear!--and would do you no

discredit in London. It would make your mouth water to see her. But he

could never move her; never was such a prude. Two days ago he thought he

had lost her for good and all--there was that accident, you understand.

And now a little blood lost--and she is at his pillow!'




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