“Charles is, to-day,” said Louis; “he is so very clever, Hamilton.”
“I know he is; but you are older, and not a dunce, if you were not idle, Louis. Louis, I shall repudiate you, if you don't get past him.”
“That would be a terrible fate,” said Louis, slipping his hand into Hamilton's. “I cannot tell you how I should miss your kind face and help. You have been such a very kind friend to me: but I have not been so very idle, Hamilton.”
“Yes, you have,” returned Hamilton; “I am vexed with you, Louis. If I did not watch over you as I do, you would be as bad as you were last half. Don't tell me you can't keep before Clifton if you choose.”
Louis looked gravely in Hamilton's face, and put his other hand on that he held. Hamilton drew his own quickly away.
“Lady Louisa,” he said, “these affectionate demonstrations may do well enough for us alone, but keep them for private service, and don't let us play Damon and Pythia in this touching manner, to so large an audience. It partakes slightly of the absurd.”
Louis colored, and seemed a little hurt; but he replied, “I am afraid I am very girlish sometimes.”
“Incontrovertibly,” said Hamilton, kindly laying his hand heavily on Louis' shoulder. “But we have no desire that any one should laugh at you but our royal self.”
“Are we going to the downs?” asked Louis.
Before Hamilton could answer, Frank Digby, one of the large audience alluded to, came up. “Of course,” he replied; “Hamilton is one of our party.”