"Five or six, I hope," Piers answered, finding courage to look into
her face, and trying to smile.

"Mr. Otway," she rejoined, with an air of self-possession which made
him feel like a rebuked schoolboy, "I prophesy that you will come to
grief over your examination."

"I don't think so, Miss Derwent," he said, with the firmness of
desperation, as he felt his face grow red under her gaze.

"I am the daughter of a medical man. Prescriptions are in my blood.
Allow me to tell you that you have worked enough for one day, and
that it is your plain duty to come and have tea in the garden."

So serious was the note of interest which blended with her natural
gaiety as she spoke these words that Piers felt his nerves thrill
with delight. He was able to meet her eyes, and to respond in
becoming terms.

"You are right. Certainly I will come, and gladly."

Irene nodded, smiled approval, and moved past him.

In his room he walked hither and thither aimlessly, still holding
his hat and stick. A throbbing of the heart, a quickening of the
senses, seemed to give him a new consciousness of life. His mood of
five minutes ago had completely vanished. He remembered his dreary
ramble about the lanes as if it had taken place last week. Miss
Derwent was still speaking to him; his mind echoed again and again
every word she had said, perfectly reproducing her voice, her