re certain than that it will grow upward. I have
the belief that I shall succeed, because I like boys, and they like me.
It always was the case.'

'I know,' said Aminta.

Their eyes met. She looked moved at heart behind that deep forest of her
chestnut eyes.

'And I think I can inspire confidence in fathers and mothers,' he
resumed.' I have my boys already waiting for me to found the school.
I was pleased the other day: an English friend brought an Italian
gentleman to see me and discuss my system, up at Norwood, at my
mother's--a Signor Calliani. He has a nephew; the parents dote on
him. The uncle confesses that the boy wants--he has got hold of our
word--"pluck." We had a talk. He has promised to send me the lad when I
am established in Switzerland.'

'When?' said Aminta.

'A relative from whom a Reversion comes is near the end. It won't be
later than September that I shall go. My Swiss friend has the school,
and would take me at once before he retires.'

'You make friends wherever you go,' said Aminta.

'Why shouldn't everybody? I'm convinced it's because I show people I
mean well, and I never nurse an injury, great or small. And besides,
they see I look forward. I do hope good for the world. If at my school
we have all nationalities--French boys and German, Italian, Russian,
Spaniard--without distinction of race and religion and station, and
with English intermixing--English games, English sense of honour and
conception of gentleman--we shall help to nationalize Europe. Emile
Grenat, Adolf Fleischer, and an Italian, Vincentino Chiuse, are prepared
to start with me: and they are men of attainments; they will throw up
their positions; they will do me the honour to trust to my leadership.
It's not scaling Alps or commanding armies, true.'

'It may be better,' said Aminta, and thought as she spoke.

'Slow work, if we have a taste for the work, doesn't dispirit.
Otherwise, one may say that an African or South American traveller has a
more exciting time. I shall manage to keep my head on its travels.'

'You have ideas about the education of girls?'

'They can't be carried out unaided.'

'Aid will come.'

Weyburn's confidence, high though it was, had not mounted to that pitch.

'One may find a mate,' he said. The woman to share and practically
to aid in developing such ideas is not easily found: that he left as
implied.

Aminta was in need of poetry; but the young schoolmaster's plain,
well-directed pro