“About my brother,” said Reginald, abruptly.
“And what did he say about your brother that chafed you so much?”
Reginald changed color, and his eyes' lighted up with passion. He did not reply at first, but as his master seemed quietly awaiting his answer, he at length burst out,—
“He had been going on all the afternoon about Louis: he tried to put me in a passion; he said all he could—every thing that was unkind and provoking, and it was more than a fellow could stand. I bore it as long as I could—”
“You are giving me a proof of your gentle endurance now, I suppose,” said the doctor.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I can't help it,—I feel so angry when I think of it, that I am afraid I should knock him down again if he were to repeat it.”
“For shame, sir!” said the doctor, sternly; “I should have thought that you had already had a lesson you would not easily have forgotten. What did he say of your brother that irritated you? I insist upon knowing.”
“He said Louis was—that Louis did not speak the truth, sir. He said that I believed it—that I believed it”—and Reginald's passionate sobs choked his utterance.
“Believed what?” asked the doctor.
“Something that happened yesterday,” said Reginald; “he said that—he was a hypocrite, and he went on taunting me about last summer.”