“Are you going to have a ride? I wish you would ride my horse; I’ll hire another, and come with you.”
“No; I don’t want a ride.”
“What do you want the whip for, then?” said De Vayne uneasily.
“Nothing. Let me go; it must be time for you to go to hall.”
“I’m not going to dine in hall to-day,” said De Vayne. “Dining at the high table, with none but dons to talk to, is dull work for an undergraduate. Stop! you shall dine with me here, Julian. I know you won’t care to go to hall to-day. Nay, you shall,” he said, putting his back against the door; “I shall be as dull as night without you.”
He made Julian stay, for it happened that at that moment his gyp brought up dinner, and Julian, hungry and weary, was tempted to sit down. De Vayne, who only too well divined his reason for borrowing the whip, was delighted at having succeeded in detaining him, for he knew that the only time when Julian would be likely to meet Brogten was immediately after hall.
Wiling away the time with exquisite tact—talking to him without pressing him to talk much in reply—turning his thoughts to indifferent subjects, until he had succeeded in arousing his interest—the young viscount detained his guest till evening, and then persuaded him to have tea. Lord De Vayne played well on the piano, and knowing Julian’s passion for music, was rewarded for his unselfish efforts by complete success in rousing his attention. He played some of the finest passages of a recent and beautiful oratorio, until Julian almost forgot his troubles, and was ready to talk with more freedom and in a kindlier mood.
“You surely won’t want the whip now,” said De Vayne in some dismay, as Julian picked it up on saying good-night.
“Yes, I shall,” answered Julian. “Good-night!”