"Nothing. I would do it for"—he laughed as he spoke—"love. Oh, Trace, I wish you would let me help you! I wish I could get you to believe that it would be one pleasure in my lonely life."
"What a hypocrite!" thought Trace: "I wonder what he's saying it for? Thank you," he rejoined aloud, with distant coldness; "I shall not require your assistance." And so the offer terminated; and Trace, speaking of it to Loftus, said it was like the fellow's impudence to make it.
One thing had been particularly noticeable throughout the term—that the young German usher seemed to have a facility for healing breaches. In ill-feelings, in quarrellings, in fightings, so sure was he to step in, and not only stop the angry tongues, but soothe their owners down to calmness. Rage, in his hands, became peace; mountains of evil melted down to molehills; fierce recrimination gave place to hand-shaking. He did all so quietly, so pleasantly, so patiently! and, but for the under-current of feeling against him that was being always secretly fanned, he would have been an immense favourite. Putting aside the untoward events at its commencement, the term had been one of the most satisfactory on record.
Loftus and his brother, Trace, James Talbot, and Irby were spending the holidays at Pond Place. Sir Simon Orville generally had two of the boys, besides his nephews. They had wanted Irby and Leek this time; but Sir Simon chose to invite Talbot, and gave them their choice of the other two. And it happened that Sir Simon, the day after their arrival, overheard Trace and Loftus talking of sundry matters, and became cognisant of the offer made to Trace by Mr. Henry.
"And you didn't accept it, Raymond?" he asked, plunging suddenly upon the two in his flowery dressing-gown. "If I were going in for the Orville competition, I shouldn't have sneezed at it. This comes of your pride: you won't study with Paradyne."
"No, it does not, uncle," replied Trace; "though I should object to study with Paradyne. It comes of my dislike to Mr. Henry."
"What is there to dislike in Mr. Henry?"
Trace hesitated, making no direct reply. Bertie Loftus moved away. Sir Simon pressed his question.
Wisely or unwisely, Trace, in his ill-nature, forgot his ordinary caution, his long-continued silence, and disclosed the suspicions attaching to Mr. Henry in regard to the lost pencil. It was so delightful a temptation to speak against him! Loftus came back during the recital, and curled his lip in silent condemnation of Trace.
"Look here," said Sir Simon, wrathfully, "I'd rather suspect one of you."