The Philosophers, of course, stoutly advocated a policy of "no surrender"; but one or two of us, I happened to know, would have been unfeignedly glad to hear that Tempest had squared matters with his pride, and left himself free to take our reform in hand.
Tempest himself preserved a glum silence until after afternoon chapel, when he said to me,-- "Isn't this one of Redwood's evenings, youngster?
I'll go with you if you're going." The Redwoods had given me an open invitation to drop in any Thursday evening to tea and bring a friend.

I had been several times with Dicky, and once, in great triumph, had taken Tempest as my guest.

It had been a most successful experiment.

Not only had Tempest taken the two little girls (and therefore their mother) by storm, but between him and Redwood had sprung up an unexpected friendship, born of mutual admiration and confidence.

Since then he had once repeated the visit, and to-night, to my great satisfaction, proposed to go again.
To me it was a miniature triumph to carry off the hero of Sharpe's from under the eyes of his house, and on an occasion like the present, to a destination of which he and I alone knew the secret.
I flattered myself that, in spite of their mocking comments, the Philosophers were bursting with envy.