"I don't know what your other girls do," she returned, "but with
me you are safe."

Ayrault fairly made his phaeton spin, going up the grades like a
shot and down like a bird. On reaching New York, he left Sylvia
at her house, then ran his machine to a florist's, where he
ordered some lilies and roses, and then steered his way to his
club, where he dressed for dinner. Shortly before the time he
repaired to Delmonico's--which name had become historical, though
the founders themselves were long dead--and sat guard at a table
till Sylvia, wearing his flowers and looking more beautiful than
any of them, arrived with her mother and father, and Bearwarden,
whom they knew very well.

"How are the exams getting on, Miss Preston?" Bearwarden asked.

"Pretty well," she replied, with a smile. "We had English
literature yesterday, and natural history the day before. Next
week we have chemistry and philosophy."

"What are you taking in natural history?" asked Bearwarden, with
interest.

"Oh, principally physical geography, geology, and meteorology,"
she replied. "I think them entrancing."

"It must be a consolation," said Ayrault, "when your best hat is
spoiled by rain, to know the reason why. Your average," he
continued, addressing Sylvia, "was ninety in the semi-annuals,