days in the week to one Potts, a self-educated genius--a sort of
superior writing-master at the Moorworth commercial school. Of course,
though it is no fault of his, poor fellow, he is hardly up to the fifth
form, and he must make the most of his time, if he is not to be
plucked. I set all this before him as gently as I could, for I knew
with whom I had to deal, yet you see how it is.'

'What did he say?' asked Charles.

'He said nothing; so far I give him credit; but he strode on furiously
for the last half mile, and this explosion is the finale. I am very
sorry for him, poor boy; I beg no further notice may be taken of it.
Don't you want an arm, Charlie?'

'No thank you,' answered Charles, with a little surliness.

'You had better. It really is too much for Amy,' said Philip, making a
move as if to take possession of him, as he arrived at the foot of the
stairs.

'Like the camellia, I suppose,' he replied; and taking his other crutch
from Charlotte, he began determinedly to ascend without assistance,
resolved to keep Philip a prisoner below him as long as he could, and
enjoying the notion of chafing him by the delay. Certainly teasing
Philip was a dear delight to Charles, though it was all on trust, as,
if he succeeded, his cousin never betrayed his annoyance by look or
sign.

About a quarter of an hour after, there was a knock at the dressing-
room door. 'Come in,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up from her