to-morrow I shall take Ma'm'selle Clara home to Mamma Russell, and you
may go your ways."

"The programme is satisfactory."

"Good. Come on then."

All Commencement days, at college or young ladies' school, if not twin
brothers and sisters, are at least first cousins, with a strong family
likeness. Who that has passed through one, or witnessed one, needs any
description thereof to furbish up its memories. This of Professor Hale's
belonged to the great tribe, and its form and features were of the old
established type. The young ladies were charming; plenty of white gowns,
plenty of flowers, plenty of smiles, blushes, tremors, hopes, and fears;
little songs, little pieces, little addresses, to be sung, to be played,
to be read, just as Tom Russell had foreshadowed, and proving to be--

"Just the least of a bore!" as he added after listening awhile; "don't
you think so, Surrey?"

"Hush! don't talk."

Tom stared; then followed his cousin's eye, fixed immovably upon one
little spot on the platform. "By Jove!" he cried, "what a beauty! As
Father Dryden would say, 'this is the porcelain clay of humankind.' No
wonder you look. Who is she,--do you know?"

"No."

"No! short, clear, and decisive. Don't devour her, Will. Remember the