After morning school was the time agreed upon for the dux to cast the
die which was to decide his future; and as soon as the classes were
dismissed, Jack Vance and Diggory met him by appointment in one corner
of the garden.

"I've done it," he said, looking awfully solemn. "She was in the hall,
and I gave it to her as I came out. I say, how many _t's_ are there in
'attachment'?"

Jack Vance thought one, Diggory said two; and the company then relapsed
into silence, and stood with gloomy looks upon their faces, as though
they were waiting to take part in a funeral procession.

At length a voice from the house was heard calling, "Fred--Fred Acton!"
The dux turned a trifle pale, but pulling himself together, marched off
with a firm step to learn his fate.

"She called him Fred," murmured Diggory; "that sounds hopeful."

"Oh, that's nothing," answered Jack Vance; "Miss Eleanor always calls
fellows by their Christian names. There's one thing," he added, after a
few moments' thought--"if she'd cut up rough over the letter, she might
have called him Mr. Acton. Hullo, here he comes!" As he spoke Acton
emerged from the house, and came down the path towards them; his straw
hat was tilted forward over his eyes, and his cheeks were glowing like
the red glass of a dark-room lamp. He sauntered along, kicking up the
gravel with the toe of his boot.

"Well, what happened?" inquired Jack Vance.