“Only practising a little sword-play, sir,” said the boy, as soon as his head was relieved.
“Sword-play! Is there no other kind of play a boy like you can take to? What do you want with sword-play?”
“My father’s a soldier,” said Roy.
“Yes; but you are not going to be a fighting man, sir; and, behindhand as you are with your studies, I think you might try a little more to do your instructor credit, and not waste time with one of the servants in such a barbaric pursuit as this. Lady Royland is waiting breakfast. You had better come at once.”
Feeling humbled and abashed before the old soldier, Roy followed the secretary without a word, and they entered the breakfast-room together, Lady Royland looking up pale and disturbed, and, upon seeing her son’s face, exclaiming—
“Why, Roy, how hot and tired you look! Have you been running?”
The secretary laughed contemptuously.
“No, mother; practising fencing with Ben.”
“Oh, Roy!” cried his mother, reproachfully; “what can you want with fencing? My dear boy, pray think more of your books.”