the manner of his invitation,
perhaps in courtesy he could hardly have said less, but there was a
transparent sincerity about those last three words which it was
impossible to ignore. Rowena hesitated. Poor Rowena! What a morning
of heartache and disappointment it had been. Ten minutes ago, five
minutes ago, she had been wheeling along her solitary way, all
melancholy and dejection, and behold, one turn of the road and she was
in the midst of a merry cavalcade, and the chance which she had thrown
away was once more within her grasp.

She hesitated, and half a dozen voices answered in her stead. Of
course, she must come! Of course! After this fortunate meeting she
could not be allowed to escape. She could not be so cruel as to refuse,
and then once again Guy Seton's voice repeated those three quiet words:
"Please say yes!"

Well, she was only longing to accept, and having been duly entreated,
gave way with a blush and a smile which made her look as pretty as a
picture. The cavalcade carried her off in triumph, and Guy Seton kept
discreetly in the background, waiting until time should give him his
opportunity. His acquaintance with this charming girl had had an
unfortunate beginning; he was determined that no haste or imprudence on
his own part should give it a second check, but that afternoon Master
Leonard Merrick, the hare, went home, made happy by a tip the amount of
which was truly princely in his schoolboy estimation!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Six months had passed by. The elder pupils at Horsham had gone
tremblingly through the ordeal of the Oxford senior examination in July,
and Mary, having achieved distinction in three separate subjects, was
now busy preparing for the mathematical group of the Cambridge higher
local examination in December. She was eventually going on to college,
and intended to devote her life to teaching, to which prospect she
looked forward with an equanimity which Dreda regarded with mystified
amazement.

"And you _like_ it! You are content to think of spending your life in a
schoolroom, going over and over the same dull old books, Mary! How
_can_ you?"

But Mary could very easily, it appeared.

"Why not, Dreda?" she inquired. "The books are not dull to me, and
surely it is a noble and interesting life to hand on the lamp of
learning from one generation to another. It's the work that appeals
most to me. Ever since I was a child I have wished to be a
schoolmistress."