Don't I remember how you pinched her hand the night you
were righted!"

"You know nothing about it," said Norman shortly. "She is far beyond my
reach."

"A fine lady? Ha! Well, I should have thought you as good as Flora any
day," said Harry indignantly.

"She is what she always was," said Norman, anxious to silence him; "but
it is unreasonable to think of it. She is all but engaged to Sir Henry
Walkinghame."

"Walkinghame!" cried the volatile sailor. "I have half a mind to send in
my name to Flora as Miss Walkinghame!" and he laughed heartily over that
adventure, ending, however, with a sigh, as he said, "It had nearly cost
me a great deal! But tell me, Norman, how has that Meta, as they called
her, turned out? I never saw anything prettier or nicer than she was
that day of the Roman encampment, and I should be sorry if that fine
fashionable aunt of hers, had made her stuck-up and disdainful."

"No such thing," said Norman.

"Ha!" said Harry to himself, "I see how it is! She has gone and made
poor old June unhappy, with her scornful airs--a little impertinent
puss!--I wonder Flora does not teach her better manners."

Norman, meanwhile, as the train sped over roofs, and among chimneys, was
reproaching himself for running into the fascination of her presence,
and then recollecting that her situation, as well as his destiny, both
guaranteed that they could meet only as friendly connections.

No carriage awaited them at the station, which surprised Norman, till
he recollected that the horses had probably been out all day, and it was
eight o'clock. Going to Park Lane in a cab, the brothers were further
surprised to find themselves evidently not expected. The butler came to
speak to them, saying that Mr. and Mrs. Rivers were gone out to dinner,
but would return, probably, at about eleven o'clock. He conducted
them upstairs, Harry following his brother, in towering vexation and
disappointment, trying to make him turn to hear that they would go
directly--home--to Eton--anywhere--why would he go in at all?

The door was opened, Mr. May was announced, and they were in a
silk-lined boudoir, where a little slender figure in black started up,
and came forward with outstretched hand.

"Norman!" she cried, "how are you? Are you come on your way to Oxford?"

"Has not Flora had Mary's letter?"

"Yes, she said she had one. She was keeping it till she had time to read
it."

As she spoke, Meta had given her hand to Harry, a