One day, during the first week of Norman's initiation, at the close of the morning school, a party similar in size and kind to that which had the honor of greeting Louis on his arrival the preceding half-year, was assembled on the raised end of the school-room. Frank and Salisbury were both of them seated on the top of a desk; the former, generally silent, relieved himself by sundry twists and contortions, smacking of the lips, sighs, and turnings of the eyes, varied by a few occasional thumps administered to Salisbury, who sat by him, apparently unconscious of the bellicose attitude of his neighbor, listening attentively, with a mixed expression of concern and anger on his honest countenance, to Norman, who, on this occasion, was the principal speaker. Louis was in the room, at his desk, hunting for a top; but too intent upon his search, and too far off to hear more of the topics that engrossed so much attention, than a few words that conveyed no impression to him, being simply, “Ferrers—my aunt—clever—hypocritical.”
Just as he had given up all hope of finding his top, Hamilton came up to him. “Louis,” said he, “if Trevannion goes out with me, I shall have time to hear your Herodotus before afternoon school, directly after dinner, mind.”
“I shan't forget;—oh, Hamilton, you haven't such a thing as another top, have you? Reginald's broken two of mine, and I can't find my other.”
“I do happen to have taken care of yours for you, you careless boy. Here is my desk-key, you will find it there; you can give me the key after dinner.”
With many thanks, Louis proceeded to Hamilton's desk, and Hamilton went up to Trevannion, who was one of the party at the upper end of the room. Louis was now so near the speakers, as to be unavoidably within hearing of all that passed; and, astonished by the first few words, he proceeded no further in his errand than putting the key into the lock.
“Are you inclined for a walk, Trevannion?” asked Hamilton, as he reached him.
Trevannion was leaning against the doctor's desk, in a more perturbed state than his calm self usually exhibited. As Hamilton spoke, he turned round, stared, and drew himself proudly up, replying, in a tone of great bitterness, “Thank you, Mr. Hamilton, but perhaps if you will take the trouble, you may find some one better suited to you than myself.”
“What is the matter?” said Hamilton.
“Some of your friends appear to have better memories than yourself,” replied Trevannion, folding his arms, and assuming an indifferent air; “you will, perhaps, not find mine quite so capricious; I am much obliged for all favors bestowed, Mr. Hamilton. Perhaps you considered me too lazy to look out for another friend; I am active enough, I assure you, to provide myself with one, and to release you from the irksome ties your indolence has imposed upon you.”
Hamilton looked, as he was, seriously annoyed. He did not remember the expression that had given so much offence, and was quite at a loss to understand the mystery:—he looked from one to the other for explanation; at one time inclined to walk away as proudly as Trevannion could have done; at another, his more moderate feelings triumphing, urged him into an inquiry.