"Don't," said Guly, earnestly, "don't be led into such folly, Arthur. Come, let's go back to the store."
"Not till you have tried your luck once," said Clinton, persuasively; "come, it is but a trifle if you lose it, and think of the chance you run."
"I've left my purse at home," said Arthur, blushing at the falsehood he stooped to utter; "I would really like to join, but can't to-night, really."
"Pooh! if the money is all, I'll advance that; and you can pay me when you like. Come along."
Arthur entered the shop reluctantly, it is true, yet ashamed to confess to his social, open-hearted companion, the compunction he felt. The ticket was purchased, and half given to Arthur.
"If you are determined to purchase a ticket, Arthur,"
said Guly, gravely, "I must insist that you do not run in debt to Mr. Clinton for it," and opening his purse, he handed to that gentleman the sum just expended for his brother's half of the ticket.
"You are very particular," remarked Clinton, with something like a sneer, and pocketing the change, while he glanced with a look of impertinent curiosity at Guly's grave but beautiful features.
"Do you go our way?" inquired Arthur, turning toward him as they left the shop.
"No; sorry to say I don't," returned Clinton, lighting a cigar, and offering one to each of the brothers, who refused it. "I am really sorry to part with you; but if you must go, good-night," and with a graceful move of the hand, the young gentleman bade an adieu to his friends, and turning down another street, was soon out of sight.