letter-writing, and Guy made his appearance, looking very downcast.

'I am come,' he said, 'to ask pardon for the disturbance I made just
now. I was so foolish as to be irritated at Philip's manner, when he
was giving me some good advice, and I am very sorry.'

'What has happened to your lip?' she exclaimed.

He put his handkerchief to it. 'Is it bleeding still? It is a trick
of mine to bite my lip when I am vexed. It seems to help to keep down
words. There! I have given myself a mark of this hateful outbreak.'

He looked very unhappy, more so, Mrs. Edmonstone thought, than the
actual offence required. 'You have only failed in part,' she said.
'It was a victory to keep down words.'

'The feeling is the _thing_,' said Guy; 'besides, I showed it plainly
enough, without speaking.'

'It is not easy to take advice from one so little your elder,' began
Mrs. Edmonstone, but he interrupted her. 'It was not the advice. That
was very good; I--' but he spoke with an effort,--'I am obliged to him.
It was--no, I won't say what,' he added, his eyes kindling, then
changing in a moment to a sorrowful, resolute tone, 'Yes, but I _will_,
and then I shall make myself thoroughly ashamed. It was his veiled
assumption of superiority, his contempt for all I have been taught.
Just as if he had not every right to despise me, with his talent and
scholarship, after such egregious mistakes as I had made in the
morning. I gave him little reason to think highly of my attainments;
but let him slight me as much as he pleases, he must not slight those