something very like an air of triumph.

"We have no intention of asking it of him, Grace. Rupert and I intend
to be off next week, without saying a word to Mr. Hardinge on the
subject."

Another long, eloquent silence succeeded, during which I saw Lucy bury
her face in her apron, while the tears openly ran down my sister's
cheek.

"You _do_ not--_cannot_ mean to do anything so cruel,
Miles!" Grace at length said.

"It is exactly because it will not be cruel, that we intend to do
it,"--here I nudged Rupert with my elbow, as a hint that I wanted
assistance; but he made no other reply than an answering nudge, which
I interpreted into as much as if he had said in terms, "You've got
into the scrape in your own way, and you may get out of it in the same
manner." "Yes," I continued, finding succour hopeless, "yes,
_that's_ just it."

"What is just it, Miles? You speak in a way to show that you are not
satisfied with yourself--neither you nor Rupert is satisfied with
himself, if the truth were known."

"I not satisfied with _myself!_ Rupert not satisfied with
_himself!_ You never were more mistaken in your life, Grace. If
there ever were two boys in New York State that _were_ well
satisfied with themselves, they are just Rupert and I."