ever thoughts of
gallantry might have entered his young head, had he found Alice such as
he might reasonably have expected, he now felt that there was a kind
of sanctity in her ignorance; and his gratitude and kindly sentiment
towards her took almost a brotherly aspect.--"You know, at least, what
school is?" he asked.

"Yes, I have talked with girls who go to school."

"Would you like to go there, too?"

"Oh, no, sir, pray not!"

"What should you like to do, then? Speak out, child. I owe you so much,
that I should be too happy to make you comfortable and contented in your
own way."

"I should like to live with you, sir." Maltravers started, and half
smiled, and coloured. But looking on her eyes, which were fixed
earnestly on his, there was so much artlessness in their soft,
unconscious gaze, that he saw she was wholly ignorant of the
interpretation that might be put upon so candid a confession.

I have said that Maltravers was a wild, enthusiastic, odd being--he was,
in fact, full of strange German romance and metaphysical speculations.
He had once shut himself up for months to study astrology--and been even
suspected of a serious hunt after the philosopher's stone; another time
he had narrowly escaped with life and liberty from a frantic conspiracy
of the young republicans of his university, in which, being bolder and
madder than most of them, he had been an active ringleader; it was,
indeed, some such folly that had compelled him to quit Germany sooner
than himself or his parents desired. He had nothing of the sober
Englishman about him. Whatever was strange and eccentric had an
irresistible charm for Ernest Maltravers. And agreeably to this
disposition, he now revolved an idea that enchanted his mobile and
fantastic philosophy. He himself would educate this charming girl--he
would write fair and heavenly characters upon this blank page--he would
act the Saint Preux to this Julie of Nature. Alas, he did not think of
the result which the parallel should have suggested. At that age, Ernest
Maltravers never damped the ardour of an experiment by the anticipation
of consequences.

"So," he said, after a short reverie, "so you would like to live with
me? But, Alice, we must not fall in love with each other."

"I don't understand, sir."

"Never mind," said Maltravers, a little disconcerted.

"I always wished to go into service."

"Ha!"

"And you would be a kind master."

Maltravers was half disenchanted.