ith a sort of consternation, "you don't mind, do
you? I don't mean anything unkind, you know; I don't think it
matters--and I am sure it isn't your fault; you are not
even--good-looking," candour compelled the boy to say, as to an honest
comrade with whom sincerity was best.

"Ah!" cried Bice, with a little excitement. "Do you think so? Then
perhaps there is more hope."

Jock was confounded by this utterance, and he began to feel that he had
been uncivil. "I don't mean," he said, "that you are not--I mean that it
is not of the least consequence. What does it matter? I am sure you are
clever, which is far better. I think you could get up anything faster
than most fellows if you were to try."

"Get up! What does that mean? And when I tell you that it does matter to
me--oh much,--very much!" she cried. "When you are beautiful, everything
is before you--you marry, you have whatever you wish, you become a great
lady; only to be pretty--that does nothing for you. Ugly, however," said
the girl reflectively; "if I am ugly, then there is some hope."

"I did not say that," cried Jock, shocked at the suggestion. "I wouldn't
be so uncivil. You are--just like other people," he added encouragingly,
"not much either one way or another--like the rest of us," Jock said,
with the intention of soothing her ruffled feelings. At sixteen decorum
is not always the first thing we think of; and though Bice was not an
English girl, she was very young. She threw out a vigorous arm and
pushed him from her, so that the astonished critic, stumbling over some
fallen branches, measured his length upon the dewy sod.

"That was not I," she said demurely, as he picked himself up in great
surprise--drawing a step away, and looking at him with wide-open eyes,
to which the little fright of seeing him fall, and the spark of malice
that took pleasure in it, had given sudden brilliancy. Jock was so much
astonished that he uttered no reproach, but went on by her side, after a
moment, pondering. He could not see how any offence could have lurked
in the encouraging and consolatory words he had said.

But when they reached the other chapter, which concerned his fortunes,
Bice was not more understanding. Her gray eyes absolutely flamed upon
him when he told her of his father's will, and the conditions upon which
Lucy's inheritance was held. "To give her money away! But that is
impossible--it would be to prove one's self mad," the girl said.

"Why? You forget