He was at home one morning, a few days after the holidays began, buried in his translation books, marking the faults in Miss Rose Brabazon's last French dictation—and he believed nobody else could have made so many—when Sir Simon Orville walked in. The sweet, kind, patient expression in Mr. Henry's face had always struck him: very patient and wearied did it look to-day. It was Christmas Eve.
"Hard at work? But this is holiday time, Mr. Henry."
Mr. Henry smiled and brightened up. "Some of us don't get the chance of any holiday, Sir Simon," he cheerfully said, as if it were a good joke.
"Bad, that! All work and no play, you know but I'd better not enlarge on that axiom," broke off Sir Simon, "since my errand here is to give you more work. Of the boys whose names are down for the Orville, one comes to you daily, I hear."
"Yes; Paradyne," replied Mr. Henry, feeling rather sensitive at mentioning the name which must be so unwelcome to the brother of the late Mrs. Trace.
"Ay, Paradyne. You made an offer to my nephew, Raymond Trace, to take him also for the holidays, I hear. And he declined."
"I should have been so glad to be of service to him!" returned Mr. Henry, his eyes lighting with the earnestness of the wish.
"The prejudiced young jackass!" explosively cried Sir Simon. "Well, the loss is his. But now, I want you to make the same offer to another, one who won't refuse it; and that's Talbot—Lord Shrewsbury, as they call him. He's staying with me—you know it, perhaps—and he can come to you daily. The boy has only his education to look to in life; he does not possess a golden horde laid up in lavender to make ducks and drakes of when he comes of age, as some of the rascals do; and through those other two bright nephews of mine his studies were stopped for some four or five weeks. Will you take him?"
"Yes, and gladly, Sir Simon. He—perhaps"—Mr. Henry paused and hesitated—"will have no objection to study with young Paradyne?"
"He'd better not let me hear of it, if he has," retorted Sir Simon. "Why should he? Paradyne and his people have not hurt him. No, no; Talbot's another sort of fellow to that. And now, what shall we say about terms? Don't be afraid of laying it on, Mr. Henry; it's my treat."