a profusion of glass and plate glittered on the dining-table of mr. dare. it was six o'clock, and they had just sat down. mrs. dare, in a light gauze dress and blonde head-dress, sat at the head of the table. there was a large family of them; four sons and four daughters; and all were present; also miss benyon, the governess. anthony and herbert sat on either side mrs. dare; adelaide and julia, the eldest daughters, near their father; the four other children, cyril and george, rosa and minny, were between them.

mr. dare was helping the salmon. in due course, a plate, followed by the sauce, was carried to anthony.

"what's this! melted butter! where's the lobster sauce?"

"there is no lobster sauce to-day," said mrs. dare. "we sent late, and the lobsters were all gone. there was a small supply. joseph, take the anchovy to mr. anthony."

mr. anthony jerked the anchovy sauce off the salver, dashed some on to his plate, and jerked the bottle back again. not with a very good grace: his palate was a dainty one. indeed, it was a family complaint.

"i wouldn't give a fig for salmon without lobster sauce," he cried. "i hope you won't send late again."

"it was the cook's fault," said mrs. dare. "she did not fully understand my orders."

"deaf old creature!" exclaimed anthony.

"anthony, there's cucumber," said julia, looking down the table at her brother. "ann, take the cucumber to mr. anthony."

"you know i never eat cucumber with salmon," grumbled anthony, in reply. and it was not graciously spoken, for the offer had been dictated by good-nature.

a pause ensued. it was at length broken by mrs. dare.

"herbert, are you growing more reconciled to office-work?"

"no; and never shall," returned herbert. "from ten till five is an awful clog upon one's time; it's as bad as school."

mr. dare looked up from his plate. "you might have been put to a profession that would occupy a great deal more time than that, herbert. what calls have you upon your time, pray, that it is so valuable? will you take some more fish?"

"well, i don't know. i think i will. it is good to-day; very good with the cucumber, that anthony despises."

ann took his plate up to mr. dare.

"anthony," said that gentleman, as he helped the salmon, "where were you this afternoon? you were away from the office altogether, after two o'clock."

"out with hawkesley," shortly replied anthony.

"yes; it is all very well to say, 'out with hawkesley,' but the office suffers. i wish you young men were not quite so fond of taking your pleasure."

"a little more fish, sir?" asked joseph of anthony.

"not if i know it."

the second course came in. a quarter of lamb, asparagus and other vegetables. herbert looked cross. he had recently taken a dislike to lamb, or fancied he had done so.

"of course there's something coming for me!" he said.

"oh, of course," said mrs. dare. "cook knows you don't like lamb."

nothing, however, came in. ann was sent to inquire the reason of the neglect. the cook had been unable to procure veal cutlet, and master herbert had said if she ever sent him up a mutton-chop again he should throw it at her head. such was the message brought back.

"what an old story-teller she must be to say she could not get veal cutlet!" exclaimed herbert. "i hate mutton and lamb, and i am not going to eat either one or the other."

"i heard the butcher say this morning that he had no veal, master herbert," interposed ann. "this hot weather they don't kill much meat."

"why have you taken this dislike to lamb, herbert?" asked mr. dare. "you have eaten it all the season."

"that's just it," answered herbert. "i have eaten so much of it that i am sick of it."

"never mind, herbert," said his mother. "there's a cherry tart coming and a delicious lemon pudding. i don't think you can be so very hungry; you went twice to salmon."

herbert was not in a good humour. all the dares had been culpably pampered, and of course it bore its fruits. he sat drumming with his silver fork upon the table, condescending to try a little asparagus, and a great deal of both pie and pudding. cheese, salad, and dessert followed, of which herbert partook plentifully. still he thought he was terribly used in not having had different meat specially provided for him; and he could not recover his good humour. i tell you the dares had been most culpably indulged. the house was one of luxury and profusion, and every little whim and fancy had been studied. it is one of the worst schools a child can be reared in.

the three younger daughters and the governess withdrew, after taking each a glass of wine. cyril and george went off likewise, to their lessons or to play. it was their own affair, and mr. dare made it no concern of his. presently mrs. dare and adelaide rose.

"hawkesley's coming in this evening," called out anthony, as they were going through the door.

adelaide turned. "what did you say, anthony?"

"lord hawkesley's coming. at least he said he would look in for an hour. but there's no dependence to be placed on him."

"we must be in the large drawing-room, mamma, this evening," said adelaide, as they crossed the hall. "miss benyon and the children can take tea in the school-room."

"yes," assented mrs. dare. "it is bad form to have one's drawing-room cucumbered with children, and lord hawkesley understands all that. let them be in the school-room."

"julia also?"

mrs. dare shrugged her shoulders. "if you can persuade her into it. i don't think julia will consent to take tea in the school-room. why should she?"

adelaide vouchsafed no reply. dutiful children they were not—affectionate children they were not—they had not been brought up to be so. mrs. dare was of the world, worldly: very much so: and that leaves very little time upon the hands for earnest duties. she had taken no pains to train her children: she had given them very little love. this conversation had taken place in the hall. mrs. dare went upstairs to the large drawing-room, a really handsome room. she rang the bell and gave sundry orders, the moving motive for all being the doubtful visit of viscount hawkesley—ices from the pastrycook's, a tray of refreshments, the best china, the best silver. then mrs. dare reclined in her chair for her after-dinner nap—an indulgence she much favoured.

adelaide dare entered the smaller drawing-room, an apartment more commonly used, and opening from the hall. julia was reading a book just brought in from the library. miss benyon was softly playing, and the two little ones were quarrelling. miss benyon turned round from the piano when adelaide entered.

"you must make tea in the school-room this evening, miss benyon, for the children. julia, you are to take yours there."

julia looked up from her book. "who says so?"

"mamma. lord hawkesley's coming, and we cannot have the drawing-room crowded."

"i am not going to keep out of the drawing-room for lord hawkesley," returned julia, a quiet girl in appearance and manner. "who is lord hawkesley, that he should disarrange the economy of the house? there's so much ceremony and parade observed when he comes that it upsets all comfort. your lordship this, and your lordship that; and papa my-lording him to the skies. i don't like it. he looks down upon us—i know he does—although he condescends to make a sort of friend of anthony."

adelaide dare's dark eyes flashed and her face crimsoned. she was a handsome girl. "julia! i do think you are an idiot!"

"perhaps i am," composedly returned julia, who was of a careless, easy temper; "but i am not going to be kept out of the drawing-room for my lord hawkesley. let me go on with my book in peace, adelaide: it is a charming one."

meanwhile herbert dare, seeing no prospect of more wine in store—for mr. dare, with wonderful prudence, told herbert that two glasses of port were sufficient for him—left his seat, and bolted out at the dining-room window, which opened on to the ground. he ran into the hall for his hat, and then, speeding across the lawn, passed into the high-road. anthony remained alone with his father; and anthony was plucking up courage to speak upon a subject that was causing him some perplexity. he plunged into it at once.

"father, i am in a mess. i have managed to outrun the constable."

mr. dare was at that moment holding his glass of wine between his eye and the light. the words quite scared him. he set his glass down and looked at anthony.

"how's that? how have you managed that?"

"i don't know how it has come about," was anthony's answer. "it is so, sir; and you must be so good as to help me out of it."

"your allowance is sufficient—amply so. do you forget that i set you clear of debt at the beginning of the year? what money do you want?"

anthony dare began pulling the fringe out of the dessert napkin, to the great detriment of the damask. "two hundred pounds, sir."

"two hundred pounds!" echoed mr. dare, a dark expression clouding his handsome face. "do you want to ruin me, anthony? look at my expenses! look at the claims upon me! i say that your allowance is a liberal one, and you ought to keep within it."

anthony sat biting his lip. "i would not have applied to you, sir, if i could have helped it; but i am driven into a corner and must find money. i and hawkesley drew some bills together. he has taken up two, and i——"

"then you and hawkesley were a couple of fools for your pains," intemperately interrupted mr. dare. "there's no game so dangerous, so delusive, as that of drawing bills. have i not told you so, over and over again? simple debt may be put off from month to month, and from year to year; but bills are nasty things. when i was a young man i lived for years upon promises to pay, but i took care not to put my name to a bill."

"hawkesley——"

"hawkesley may do what you must not," interrupted mr. dare, drowning his son's voice. "he has his father's long rent-roll to turn to. recollect, anthony, this must not occur again. it is impossible that i can be called upon periodically for these sums. herbert is almost a man, and cyril and george are growing up. a pretty thing, if you were all to come upon me in this manner. i have to exert my wits as it is, i can tell you. i'll give you a cheque to-morrow; and i should serve you right if i were to put you upon half allowance until i am repaid."

mr. dare finished his wine, rang for the table to be cleared, and left the room. anthony remained standing against the side of the window, half in, half out, buried in a brown study, when herbert came up, leaping over the grass. herbert was nearly as tall as anthony. he had been for some time articled to his father, but had only joined the office the previous midsummer. he looked into the room and saw it was empty.

"where's the governor?"

"gone somewhere. into the drawing-room, perhaps," replied anthony.

"what a nuisance!" ejaculated herbert. "one can't talk to him before the girls. i want twenty-five shillings from him. markham has the primest fishing-rod to sell, and i must have it."

"twenty-five shillings for a fishing-rod!" cried anthony.

"and cheap at the price," answered herbert. "you don't often see so complete a thing as this. markham would not part with it—it's a relic of his better days, he says—only his old mother wants some comfort or other which he can't otherwise afford. the case——"

"you have half-a-dozen fishing-rods already."

"half a dozen rubbish! that's what they are, compared with this one. it's no business of yours, anthony."

"not at all. but you'll oblige me, herbert, by not bothering the governor for money to-night. i have been asking him for some, and it has put him out."

"did you get it?"

anthony nodded.

"then you'll let me have the one-pound-five, anthony?"

"i can't," returned anthony. "i shall have a cheque to-morrow, and i must pay it away whole. that won't clear me. but i didn't dare to tell of more."

"if i don't get that fishing-rod to-night, markham may sell it to some one else," grumbled herbert.

"go and get it," replied anthony. "promise him the money for to-morrow. you are not obliged to give it, you know. the governor has just said that he lived for years upon promises to pay."

"markham wants the money down."

"he'll think that as good as down if you tell him he shall have it to-morrow. bring the fishing-rod away; possession's nine points of the law, you know."

"he'll make such an awful row afterwards, if he finds he does not get the money."

"let him. you can row again. it's the easiest thing on earth to fence off little paltry debts like that. people get tired of asking for them."

away vaulted herbert for the fishing-rod. anthony yawned, stretched himself, and walked out just as twilight was fading. he was going out to keep an appointment.

herbert dare went back to markham's. the man—though, indeed, so far as birth went he might be called a gentleman—lived a little way beyond mr. dare's. the cottage was situated in the midst of a large garden, in which markham worked late and early. he had a very, very small patrimony upon which he lived and kept his mother. he was bending over one of the beds when herbert returned. "he would take the fishing-rod then, and bring the money over at nine in the morning, before going to the office. mr. dare was gone out, or he would have brought it at once," was the substance of the words in which herbert concluded the negotiation.

could they have looked behind the hedge at that moment, herbert dare and markham, they would have seen two young gentlemen suddenly duck down under its shelter, creep silently along, heedless of the ditch, which, however, was tolerably dry at that season, make a sudden bolt across the road, when they got opposite mr. dare's entrance, and whisk within its gates. they were cyril and george. that they had been at some mischief and were trying to escape detection, was unmistakable. under cover of the garden-wall, as they had previously done under cover of the hedge, crept they; sprang into the house by the dining-room window, tore up the stairs, and took refuge in the drawing-room, startlingly arousing mrs. dare from her after-dinner slumbers.

in point of fact, they had reckoned upon finding the room unoccupied.