"In personal appearance, you mean. Yes, he is well-looking enough."

"And in his manner, too. He is doing uncommonly well in Liverpool,
I can tell you; and if he should think of Bessy--"

"There is nothing of that sort," said Mrs. Garrow.

"He did speak to me, you know,--two years ago. Bessy was too young
then, and so indeed was he. But if she likes him--"

"I don't think she does."

"Then there's an end of it." And so they went to bed.

"Frank," said the sister to her elder brother, knocking at his door
when they had all gone up stairs, "may I come in,--if you are not in
bed?"

"In bed," said he, looking up with some little pride from his Greek
book; "I've one hundred and fifty lines to do before I can get to
bed. It'll be two, I suppose. I've got to mug uncommon hard these
holidays. I have only one more half, you know, and then--"

"Don't overdo it, Frank."

"No; I won't overdo it. I mean to take one day a week, and work
eight hours a day on the other five. That will be forty hours a
week, and will give me just two hundred hours for the holidays. I
have got it all down here on a table. That will be a hundred and
five for Greek play, forty for Algebra--" and so he explained to her