his instinct told him that he was interrupting, and he had too
little vanity to see that the interruption was agreeable. "But
I thought you'd be only reading a novel."

For answer she held up the book which lay before her--a solemn
volume in light brown calf.

"Analytical geometry," he said; "and on the first day of the
finest spring the world ever saw!" He was at the window,
looking out longingly--sunshine, and soft air washed clean by the
rains; the new-born leaves and buds; the pioneer birds and
flowers. "Let's go for a walk. We can do the Vergil
to-night."

"YOU--talking of neglecting WORK!" Her smile seemed to him to
sparkle as much in the waves of her hair as in her even white
teeth and gold-brown eyes. "So you're human, just like the rest
of us."

"Human!" He glanced at her and instantly glanced away.

"Do leave that window," she begged. "We must get the Vergil
now. I'm reading an essay at the society to-night--they've fined
me twice for neglecting it. But if you stand there reminding me
of what's going on outside I'll not be able to resist."

"How this would look from Indian Rock!"

She flung open a Vergil text-book with a relentless shake of the
head. "I've got the place. Book three, line two forty-five--