“I’m not so sure; it’s a very serious favour, and it isn’t for myself; moreover, it’s very cool.”
“The greater it is, the more I shall know that you trust my friendship, Walter; and, if it’s cool, it suits the time and place.”
“Yet, I bet you that you’ll hesitate when I propose it.”
“Well, out with it; you make me curious.”
“It is that you’d give little Eden the run of your study.”
“Little Eden the run of my study! O, yes, if you wish it,” said Power, not liking to object after what he had said, but flushing up a little, involuntarily. It was indeed a great favour to ask. Power’s study was a perfect sanctum; he had furnished it with such rare good taste, that, when you entered, your eye was attracted by some pretty print or neat contrivance wherever you looked. It was Power’s peculiar pride and pleasure to beautify his little room, and to sit there with any one whom he liked; but to give up his privacy, and let a little scapegrace like Eden have the free run of it, was a proposition which took him by surprise. Yet it was a good deal for Power’s own sake that Walter had ventured to ask it. Power’s great fault was his over-refinement; the fastidiousness which marred his proper influence, made him unpopular with many boys, and shut him up in a reserved and introspective habit of mind. By a kind of instinct, Walter felt that it would be good to disturb this epicurean indifference to the general interests of the school, and the kind of intellectualism which weakened the character of this attractive and affectionate, yet shy and self-involved boy. “Ah, I see,” said Walter archly; “you’re as bad as Kenrick; you Priests and Levites won’t touch my poor little wounded traveller.”
“But I don’t see what I could do for him,” said Power; “I shouldn’t know what to talk to him about.”
“O, yes, you would; you don’t know how his gratitude would pay you for the least interest shown in him. He’s been so shamefully bullied, poor little chap, I hardly like to tell you even the things that that big brute Harpour has made him do. He came here bright and neat, and merry and innocent; and now—” He would not finish the sentence, and his voice faltered; but checking himself, he added, more calmly—“This, remember, has been done to the poor little fellow here, at Saint Winifred’s; and when I remember what I might have been myself by this time, but for—but for one or two friends, my heart quite bleeds for him. Anyhow, I think one ought to do what one can for him. I wish I’d a study, I know, and he shouldn’t be the only little fellow who should share it. I’ve got so much good from being able to learn my own lessons in Percival’s room, that I’d give anything to be able to do as much for some one else.”
“He shall come, Walter,” said Power, “with all my heart. I’ll ask him directly we get back to Saint Winifred’s.”
“Will you? I thank you. That is good of you; I’m sure you won’t be sorry in the long-run.”