"O Raymond, I don't think that will do; you don't consider what people might say if they saw me."
"It is nearly dark at four; that is not late. That old quarry place then."
"Where I saw you with some one some time ago?"
"Yes; that's it. I will be close at hand. Do pray let me tell Percival."
Salome had only time to say "Yes," when Reginald came down. It was so new to her to hear the grand, magnificent Raymond pleading for a favour at her hands. It was a cowardly proceeding on his part; but such boys as Raymond Wilton are cowards. It would have been better for him if he had not so often been helped out of school scrapes by too indulgent parents. His was one of those natures which need discipline and firmness as well as love. He had not been taught that in self-denial there is nobleness which brings peace after the pain. To choose the thorny path of which Mr. Atherton had spoken to his sister, had never even occurred to him. He had always looked for the smoothness and pleasantness of life as his by right as well as choice, and thus of all the family who had suffered these sharp reverses he was the least able to meet them.
As Reginald came into the room Raymond left it; and Stevens and the children next appeared—Stevens with a tray for her mistress's breakfast, and two bowls of oatmeal porridge for Hans and Carl.
"I am just going to walk a little way with Raymond," she said; "I shall not be five minutes."
Salome was off like lightning, and soon overtook her brother.
"Raymond, may—may I tell Reginald? may he come with me this afternoon?"
"No," said Raymond; "what made you race like that? Tell no one, and I am certain Percival will listen to you. In the quarry at four o'clock, or soon after."