n twenty, what matter? Would I have let you pass me? If
I had not found courage to seek you here--and it required some courage,
and some perseverance, too--why, I should have missed you altogether."

Bessie laughed: here were they sparring as if they had parted no longer
ago than yesterday! Then she blushed, and all at once they came to
themselves, and began to be graver and more restrained.

"My friends are Fordyce and Craik; they have gone to study the Tapestry.
I said I would look in at it later with you, Bessie: I counted on you
for my guide," announced Harry with native assurance.

Bessie launched a supplicatory glance at madame, then hazarded a
doubtful consent, which did not provoke a denial. After that they moved
to the garden-end of the _salon_, and seated themselves in friendly
proximity. Then Bessie asked to be told all about them at home. All
about them was not a long story. The doctor's family had not arrived at
the era of dispersion and changes; the three years that had been so
long, full, and important to Bessie had passed in his house like three
monotonous days. The same at Brook.

"The fathers and mothers, yours and mine, are not an hour altered,"
Harry Musgrave said. "The boys are grown. Jack is a sturdy little
ruffian, as you might expect; no boy in the Forest runs through so many
clothes as Jack--that's the complaint. There is a talk of sending him to
sea, and he is deep in Marryat's novels for preparation."

"Poor Jack, he was a sad Pickle, but _so_ affectionate! And Willie and
the others?" queried Bessie rather mournfully.

Concerning Willie and the others there was a favorable account. Of all
Bessie's old friends and acquaintances not one was lost, not one had
gone away. But talk of them was only preliminary to more interesting
talk of themselves, modestly deferred, but well lingered over once it
was begun. Harry Musgrave could not tell Bessie too much--he could not
explain with too exact a precision the system of college-life, its
delights and drawbacks. He had been very successful; he had won many
prizes, and anticipated the distinction of a high degree--all at the
cost of work. One term he had not gone up to Oxford. The doctor had
ordered him to rest.

"Still, you are not quite killed with study," said Bessie gayly,
rallying him. She thought the school-life of girls was as laborious as
the college-life of young men, with much fewer alleviations.

"That was never my way. I can make a spu