He soon laughed it off, assuming the cool easy way of the man-about-town, and speaking lightly, he exclaimed—
“Quite a contretemps! I am rather late in the field, it seems. I was not aware that Mr Harry Clayton was turning gay. Not the first saint who has carried the world beneath his sackcloth. Good morning all!”
“Stop,” cried Harry, hastily, and he struggled to speak all he knew, and tell of the previous meeting at Norwood, but his courage failed. “Stop a moment! My visit here was for the purpose of giving advice.”
“Cheap, and always plenty on supply,” sneered Lionel.
”—Of uttering a few words of warning.”
“Exactly; to practise the part of mentor to the young. Rather selfish, though, Harry—rather selfish. Shouldn’t have thought it of you!”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh! nothing—nothing at all,” said Lionel, lightly—“nothing surprising in my coming; but for you to be here! Ah! Harry, I’m afraid the study of the classics is making you light and wild.”
It was now Harry’s turn to look conscious, for his heart seemed to whisper to him that the shafts let fly by his companion were not so badly aimed; and for a few moments he strove vainly for the composure he needed to carry on the wordy warfare with effect.
“Perhaps we had better bring this interview to a close,” he said at last; for, in spite of Lionel’s talk of withdrawing, he still stayed.