“But, my love,” he replied, “we must consider.  Many parents have an objection to the expense, and—­”

“Oh, of course!” she interrupted, “if ever I venture, which I seldom do, to propose anything, there are fifty objections raised at once.  Pray, may I ask to what uncomfortable quarter of the globe you propose to take me?  Perhaps to the Gold Coast—­or some other deadly spot—­quite likely!”

“Well, my love,” said the Coach, “I thought of the Lakes.”

“Thought of the Lakes!” slowly repeated his wife.  “Since I have had the honour of being allied with you in marriage, I believe you have never thought of anything else!”

There was some truth in this, and the tutor felt it.  “Then, my dear,” said he mildly, “I really do not know where we should go.”

Thereupon his wife ran through the names of several likely places, to each of which she stated some clear and decided objection.  Ultimately she mentioned Babbicombe as being a place she might be induced to regard with favour; the truth being that she had made up her mind from the first not to be taken anywhere else.  “Babbicombe by all means let it be,” said he, “since you wish it.”

“I do not wish it at all,” she cried, “as you know quite well, my dear; and it is very hard that you should always try to make it appear that I wish to do a thing, when I have no desire at all upon the subject.  Have you noticed, aunt, how invariably Charles endeavours to take an unfair advantage of anything I say, and tries to make out I wish a thing which he has himself proposed?”

The Drag said she had noticed it very often, and wondered at it very much.  She thought it was very unfair indeed, and showed a domineering spirit very far from Christian in her opinion, though, of course, opinions might differ.

Porkington took a turn in his little back garden, and smoked a pipe, which seemed to console him somewhat; and, after a few more skirmishes, the coach, harness, drag, team and all arrived at Babbicombe.

CHAPTER II.—­THE TEAM.

Let the man who disapproves of reading parties suggest something better.  “Let the lads stop at home,” says one.  Have you ever tried it?  They soon become a bore to themselves and all around them.  “Let them go by themselves, then, to some quiet seaside lodging or small farmhouse.”  Suicide or the d—–­1.  “Let them stop at the University for the Long.”  The Dons won’t let them stop up, unless they are likely to take high degrees; and, even if the Dons would permit it, it would be too oppressively dull for the young men.  “At all events, let reading parties be really reading parties.”  Whoever said they should be anything else?  For my part I know nothing in this life equal to reading parties.  Do Jones and Brown, who are perched upon high stools in the city, ever dream of starting for the Lakes with a ledger each, to enter their accounts