'A penny for your thoughts, Harry,' cried Edie, seeing by his look
that she had somehow vexed him. 'What are you thinking of?'

'Thinking that all Oxford men are horrid cynics,' said Harry, boldly
shaming the devil.

'Why are they?' Edie asked.

'I suppose because it's an inexpensive substitute for wit or
intellect,' Harry answered. 'Indeed, I'm a bit of a cynic myself,
I believe, for the same reason and on strictly economical principles.
It saves one the trouble of having any intelligible or original
opinion of one's own upon any subject.'

Below Iffley Lock they landed for half an hour, in order to give
Edie time for a pencil sketch of the famous old Norman church-tower,
with its quaint variations on the dog-tooth ornament, and its
ancient cross and mouldering yew-tree behind. Harry sat below in
the boat, propped on the cushions, reading the last number of the
'Nineteenth Century;' Ernest and Edie took their seat upon the
bank above, and had a first chance of an unbroken tete-a-tete.

'How delicious to live in Oxford always!' said Edie, sketching in
the first outline of the great round arches. 'I would give anything
to have the opportunity of settling here for life. Some day I shall
make Harry set up house, and bring me up here as his housekeeper:--I
mean,' she added with a blush, thinking of Harry's warning look
just before, 'as soon as they can spare me from home.' She purposely
avoided saying 'when they retire from business,' the first phrase
that sprang naturally to her simple little lips. 'Let me see, Mr.