Hamilton turned, and looked after his retreating figure, as, drawn up to its full height, it quickly disappeared in the crowd of boys, who were chaffering with the old cake-man. His puzzled countenance soon resumed its accustomed gravity, and with a slight curl of the lip, he laid his hand on Louis' arm, and drew him on.
“Trevannion is offended,” said Louis.
“He's welcome,” was the rejoinder.
“But it is on my account, Hamilton,” said Louis, anxiously; “I cannot bear that you should quarrel with him for me.”
“I have not quarrelled,” said Hamilton, coldly. “If he chooses to be offended, I can't help it.”
“But he is an older friend than I am in two senses—let me go after him and tell him I am not going. I can go with you another afternoon.”
Louis drew his arm away as he spoke, and was starting off, when Hamilton seized him quite roughly, and exclaimed in an angry tone, “You shall do no such thing, Louis! Does he suppose I am to have no one else but himself for my friend—friend, indeed!” he repeated. “It's all indolence, Louis.”
Louis looked up half alarmed, startled at his vehemence.
“Perhaps,” said Hamilton, relaxing his hold, and laughing as he spoke, “perhaps if I had not been so lazy, I should have found a more suitable friend before; as it is, I do not yet find Trevannion indispensable—by no means,” he added, scornfully.
“Dear Hamilton,” said Louis, “I shall be quite unhappy if I think I am the cause of your thinking ill of Trevannion. You used to be such great friends.”