'Nonsense,' said Felix; 'he is an obstinate little dog. I wish I was licking him. I hope he is not pitching into Clem!'
'Clem is the biggest,' said Alda.
'Yes, but he is much the meekest,' added Wilmet.
'Tina's meek sauce is aggravation, itself,' observed Edgar. 'I should hope he was catching it!'
'He is certainly not slow to put in his oar,' said Mr. Audley; 'did you hear of his performance in the vestry the other day?'
'No. I hope he did not make an unusual ass of himself,' said Felix.
'He and Mowbray Smith had last Tuesday's Evensong nearly to themselves, when Master Clem not only assisted Smith in putting on his hood, but expressed his doubts as to the correctness of it (never, of course, having seen any bachelor's but Oxford or Cambridge), and further gave him some good advice as to his manner of intoning.'
'I hope he won't go on in that way at St. Matthew's!' exclaimed Wilmet.
'It is lucky he is going so soon,' said Mr. Audley. 'I doubt if Mowbray Smith will ever get over it!'
'Regular snob that he is,' said Edgar; 'just one of my Lady's sort! What did he do? Go crying to her?'