“Something like it,” replied Louis. “He slipped it among my books to hide it, ma'am, but not intending to do me any harm; and when it was found he was afraid to speak the truth.”
“And so you bore the blame—and did you not try to clear yourself?”
“To be sure, ma'am; but he was older and better known than I was, and so he was believed.”
“And you couldn't help yourself? I thought you bore it out of kindness to him.”
“Afterwards I found it out, ma'am. I found that Alfred Hamilton knew something about it.”
“Who is Alfred Hamilton?” asked Mrs. Paget.
“A little boy, ma'am, at school.”
“And he found it out—and didn't he tell of it?”
“I did not wish him,” replied Louis, with less reserve. “It would have been very unkind to poor Ferrers; he would have been expelled. Alfred was going to tell, but you would not have wished him to do it, I am sure.”
Ah Louis, Louis! anxiety for Ferrers' reputation was quite lost in the selfish desire of admiration. Mrs. Paget put her arm round him, and her kindly eyes nearly overflowed with affectionate emotion, for she, poor lady, could only see the surface; the inward workings of the little vain heart were hid from her, or she would have been surprised to find under the appearance of sweetness and humility, Louis was only thinking of seeming lovely and amiable in her eyes.