"Cambridge!" exclaimed Cashel, excited. "When, mamma? When?"

"Oh, I don't know. Not yet. As soon as Dr. Moncrief says you are fit
to go."

"That will be long enough," said Cashel, much dejected by this
reply. "He will not turn one hundred and twenty pounds a year out of
doors in a hurry. He kept big Inglis here until he was past twenty.
Look here, mamma; might I go at the end of this half? I feel sure I
should do better at Cambridge than here."

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Byron, decidedly. "I do not expect to have to
take you away from Dr. Moncrief for the next eighteen months at
least, and not then unless you work properly. Now don't grumble,
Cashel; you annoy me exceedingly when you do. I am sorry I mentioned
Cambridge to you."

"I would rather go to some other school, then," said Cashel,
ruefully. "Old Moncrief is so awfully down on me."

"You only want to leave because you are expected to work here; and
that is the very reason I wish you to stay."

Cashel made no reply; but his face darkened ominously.

"I have a word to say to the doctor before I go," she added,
reseating herself. "You may return to your play now. Good-bye,
Cashel." And she again raised her face to be kissed.

"Good-bye," said Cashel, huskily, as he turned toward the door,