dark hair. There fell a long shadow on the grass beside her.

"Clarence--Mr. Mayfair! I didn't see you coming. When did you get home?"

"Last night. I stayed in Toronto till the report of our 'exams' came
out."

"I see you have been successful," she replied. "Allow me to congratulate
you."

"Thank you. I hear you are coming to 'Varsity this fall, Miss Woodburn.
Don't you think it quite an undertaking? I'm sure I wish you joy of the
hard work."

"Why, I hope you are not wearying of your course in the middle of it,
Mr. Mayfair. It is only two years till you will have your B.A."

"Two years' hard work, though; and, to tell the truth, a B.A. has lost
its charms for me. I long to devote my life more fully to literature.
That is my first ambition, you know, and I seem to be wasting so much
time."

"You can hardly call time spent that way wasted," she answered. "You
will write all the better for it by and by."

Then they plunged into one of their old-time literary talks of authors
and books and ambitions. Beth loved these talks. There was no one else
in Briarsfield she could discuss these matters with like Clarence. She
was noticing meanwhile how much paler he looked than when she saw him
last, but she admired him all the more. There are some women who love a