A little fellow ran up, all in a fright. "Oh! if you please, if you please, Miss Beauclerc, here comes the dean."
"What if he does?" retorted Miss Beauclerc; "he won't eat you. There, you may go, boys. Henry Arkell, you know you are expected at the deanery to-night."
"Yes, thank you, Miss Beauclerc," he replied, some hesitation, or surprise, visible in his tone.
"Ah, but I mean to us, after the dinner. Mamma has what she calls one of her quiet soirées. You'll be sure to come."
One glance from his brilliant eyes, beneath which her blue ones fell, and he drew away. The rest were already off. Georgina walked forward to meet the dean, and she put her arm within his in her loving manner.
"Oh, papa, the boys are so envious of the medal. I stopped them and made them show it me. That ugly Lewis is ready to cut his throat."
"Random-spoken as usual, my darling. Who's throat?"
"Henry Arkell's of course, papa. But I knew no one else would gain it. They are not fit to tie his shoes."
"In learning, they certainly are not. You can't imagine what a ludicrous display we have had! And some of them go soon to the university!"