With his black shining hair brushed down in unusual lankiness over his receding forehead, and with an expression of sleek resignation unusually sanctimonious, Hazlet sat down, and gave a half groan.
“I am sorry,” he said, “dear Julian—”
“Home, if you please, Hazlet,” interrupted Julian.
Hazlet was a little taken aback, but he said—
“Well, dear Home—”
“Home only, if you please,” said Julian still more abruptly.
“Ah! I see you are in a rebellious—excuse me, dear—I mean Home,—a rebellious spirit. I feared it would be so when I saw that godless young clergyman with you.”
Julian relieved his disgust by an expression of impatience.
“I have no doubt, dear Ju—, I mean Home—I have no doubt,” he continued, with a gusto infinitely annoying, “that you needed this rod. I am afraid that you are as yet unconverted; that you have as yet no saving, no vital sense of Christianity. Some sin, perhaps, needs correction; some—”
“Confound your intolerable impudence and cant!” said Julian, starting from his seat, aroused by his hypocritical prate into unwonted intolerance; and he suddenly observed, by the cowering attitude which Hazlet assumed, that the worthy youth was afraid of receiving at his head the water-bottle, on which Julian’s hand was resting. Julian thought it best to avoid the temptation, and hoping Hazlet would take the hint, he said, “Forgive my rudeness, Hazlet, but I am very tired and annoyed just now; in fact, I am hardly in a condition to talk with, as you see, and you are really quite incapable of saying anything to help me.”