"'Valentine Melcombe.
"'References exchanged.'"
"You impudent young dog!" exclaimed Valentine, delighted with this sally, and not at all sorry that Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer were out of hearing—they having risen and strolled down to a lower portion of the orchard.
Valentine was seated on a low garden-chair, and his young guests were grouped about him on a Persian carpet which had been spread there. Gladys was roused from her reverie by seeing Valentine snatch a piece of paper from Crayshaw—peals of laughter following his pretended reading of it.
"They actually think, those two, of having their poems printed," Barbara had been saying.
"It would only cost about £30," said Crayshaw, excusing himself, "and Mrs. Mortimer promised to subscribe for twenty copies. Why, Lord Byron did it. If he wrote better Latin verse than Scroggins does, where is it?"
"The first one, then," said Barbara, "ought to be Johnnie's parody that he did in the holidays. Mamma gave him a title for it, 'Ode on a Distant Prospect of leaving Harrow School.'"
Then it was that Valentine snatched the paper.
"Most of them are quite serious," Crayshaw here remarked.
"Ah, so this is the list of them," said Valentine, pretending to read:—