"
"Are you preparing for him?"
"No. He is sick of me, and has no time to attend to me now."
"Let me see-—"
"Oh! Mr. Ogilvie," said Armine, looking up with his ingenuous eyes.
"I don't deserve it. Besides, Bobus says it is of no use now. I've
wasted too much time ever to get into King's."
"I should like to judge of that. Suppose I examined you-—not now,
but to-morrow morning. Meantime, how do you construe this chorus?
"It is a tough one."
Armine winked out of his eyes the tears that had risen at the belief
that he had really in his wilfulness lost the hope of fulfilling the
higher aims of his life, and with a trembling voice translated the
passage he had been hammering over. A word from Mr. Ogilvie gave him
the clue, and when that stumbling-block was past, he acquitted
himself well enough to warrant a little encouragement.
"Well done, Armine. We shall make a fair scholar of you, after all."
"I don't deserve you should be so kind. I see now what a fool I have
been," said Armine, his eyes filling again, with tears.
"I have no time to talk of that now," said Mr. Ogilvie. "I only
looked in to hear how your mother was. Bring down whatever books you
have been getting up at twelve to-morrow; or if it is a wet day, I
will come to you.
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