not so very old--not more than five-and-twenty
years older than--Helen."

"Bother Helen! I beg her pardon, she is a dear good girl. But do you
think any man would look at Helen when there was Janetta?"

It was out now, out with a burning blush over all the lad's honest
face, and the sudden crick-crack of a pretty Indian paper-cutter he
unfortunately was twiddling in his fingers. Miss Williams must have been
blind indeed not to have guessed the state of the case.

"What! Janetta? Oh, David!" was all she said.

He nodded. "Yes, that's it, just it. I thought you must have found it
out long ago: though I kept myself to myself pretty close, still you
might have guessed."

"I never did. I had not the remotest idea. Oh, how remiss I have been!
It is all my fault."

"Excuse me, I can not see that it is any body's fault, or any body's
misfortune, either," said the young fellow, with a not unbecoming pride.
"I hope I should not be a bad husband to any girl, when it comes to that.
But it has not come; I have never said a single word to her. I wanted to
be quite clear of Oxford, and in a way to win my own position first. And
really we are so very jolly together as it is. What are you smiling
for?"

She could not help it. There was something so funny in the whole affair.
They seemed such babies, playing at love; and their love-making, if such
it was, had been carried on in such an exceedingly open and lively way,
not a bit of tragedy about it, rather genteel comedy, bordering on farce.
It was such a contrast to--certain other love stories that she had known,
quite buried out of sight now.

Gentle "Auntie"--the grave maiden lady, the old hen with all these young
ducklings who would take to the water so soon--held out her hand to the
impetuous David.

"I don't know what to say to you, my boy: you really are little more than
a boy, and to be taking upon yourself the responsibilities of life so
soon! Still, I am glad you have said nothing to her about it yet. She is
a mere child, only eighteen."

"Quite old enough to marry, and to marry Mr. Roy even, the St. Andrews
folks think. But I won't stand it. I won't tamely sit by and see her
sacrificed. He might persuade her; he has a very winning way with him
sometimes. Auntie, I have not spoken, but I won't promise not to speak.
It is all very well for you; you are old, and your blood runs cold, as
you said to us one day--no, I don't mean that; you are a real br