might almost say half girl."

"Oh, Ernest, to hurt my feelings so!" said the boy, turning away his
face.

Mowbray found himself reflecting that he had uttered a very unkind
speech.

"I only meant that there was a singular mixture of character and
playfulness in you, Charles," he said; "you are as changeable as the
wind--and quite as pleasant to my weary brow," he added, with a smile;
"you smooth its wrinkles."

"I'm very glad I do," said Hoffland; "but do not again utter such
unfeeling words--_I_ like a girl!"

"No, I will not--pray pardon me," replied Mowbray.

Hoffland's lip was puckered up, until it resembled a rose-leaf rumpled
by the finger of a school-girl.

"Then there is another objection to my going out this evening,
Ernest," he said: "you see I return to the subject."

"What objection?"

"You ought to tell your sister what a fascinating young man I am, and
put her upon her guard----"

"Charles!" cried Mowbray, with a strong disposition to laugh; "you
must pardon my saying that your vanity is the most amusing I have ever
encountered."

"Is it!" asked Hoffland, smiling; "but come, don't you think me
fascinating?"

"Upon my word," said Mowbray, "were I to utter the exact truth, I
should say yes; for I have never yet found myself so completely
conciliated by a stranger. Just consider that we have not known each
other a week yet----"

"But four days!" laughed Hoffland; "be accurate!"

"Well, that makes it all the stronger: we have known each other but
four days, and here we are jesting with every word--'Charles' here,
'Ernest' there--as though we had been acquainted twenty years."

"Such an acquaintance might be possible for you--it is not for me,"
Hoffland said, laughing; "but I find you very generous. You have not
added the strongest evidence of my wayward familiarity--that I advised
you to put your sister on her guard against my fascinations. Let her
take care! Else shall she be a love-sick girl--the most amusing
spectacle, I think, in all the world!"

With which words Hoffland laughed so merrily and with such a musical,
ringing, contagious joy, that Mowbray's feeling of pique at this
unceremonious allusion to his sister passed away completely, and he
could not utter a word.

They passed on thus to the college, conversing about a thousand
things; and Mowbray saw with the greatest surprise that his companion
possessed a mind of remarkable clearness and justness. His comments
upon every su