“There, there he comes, and at a slapping pace, too!” cried Herbert; and, as he spoke, the clattering sound of a fast gallop was heard ascending the causeway, and the next moment the bell sent forth a loud summons.
“I knew he'd keep his word,” said the boy, proudly, as he walked to meet him. The door opened, and Frederick Travers appeared.
So unexpected was the disappointment, it needed all Sir Archy's practised politeness to conceal from the young Guardsman the discomfiture of the rest: nor did he entirely succeed, for Frederick was no common observer, and failed not to detect in every countenance around, that his was not the coming looked for.
“I owe a thousand apologies for the hour of my visit, not to speak of its abruptness,” said he, graciously; “but we only learned accidentally to-day that Herbert was going up to Dublin, and my father sent me to request he would join our party.”
“He is about to enter college,” said Sir Archy, half fearing to direct the youth's mind from the great object of his journey.
“Be it so,” said Fred, gaily; “we'll talk Virgil and Homer on the road.”
“I'm afraid such pleasant companionship may put Greece and Rome in the background,” said Sir Archy, drily.
“I'll answer for it he'll be nothing the worse for the brief respite from study; besides you'd not refuse me his company, when I tell you that otherwise I must travel alone. My father in his wisdom having decided to despatch me half a day in advance, to make preparations for his arrival. Is that quite fair, Miss O'Donoghue?”
“I protest I think not, as regards us. As for you,” added she, archly, “I should say, so accomplished a traveller always finds sufficient to amuse him on the least interesting journey. I remember a little theory of yours on that subject; you mentioned it the first time I had the pleasure to meet you.”
The allusion was with reference to the manner in which Travers made her acquaintance in the Bristol packet, and the cool assurance of which, she, with most womanly pertinacity, had not yet forgiven. Travers, who had often felt ashamed of the circumstance, and had hoped it long since forgotten, looked the very picture of confusion.