e this hat. I shall
always like it NOW. Did you REALLY miss me yesterday? I had gone
to have my photo taken. Marguerite thinks it very good indeed,
but I am SURE it flatters me TOO much.

Yours truly,
L. Aldith Evelyn MacCarthy."

Now Mr. James Graham had a great friend in one of the before-mentioned
Courtney boys, Andrew by name. He was a handsome lad of eighteen,
still a schoolboy, but possessed of fascinating manners and a pair
of really beautiful eyes.

And, since his friend and companion Jim had taken to "having fun"
with "the girl MacCarthy," he objected to being left out in the
cold. So he began to pay marked attentions to Meg, who blushed
right up to her soft, pretty fringe every time he spoke to her,
and looked painfully conscious and guilty if he said anything at
all complimentary to her.

The other boy, Alan Courtney, was very tall and broad-shouldered,
and not at all good-looking. He had a strong, plain face, grey
eyes deeply set, and brown hair that looked as if he was in a
constant state of rumpling it up the wrong way. He was a University
student, and a great footballer, and he never diverted himself on
the long homeward journey in the way Andrew and his friend did.

He used generally to give a half-contemptuous nod as he passed
the little group, uncovering his head for the shortest possible
period consistent with civility, and making his way to the far
end of the boat. One time as he passed them Aldith was drooping
her lashes and using her eyes with great effect, and Meg was almost
positive she heard him mutter under his breath, "Silly young fools!"
He used to smoke at his end of the boat--cigars at the beginning
of term and a short, black, villainous-looking pipe at the end--and
Meg used secretly to think how manly he looked, and to sigh profoundly.

For I may as well tell you now as later what this foolish little
thing had done after a few months' course of Aldith and novels.
She had fallen in love as nearly as it is possible for sweet sixteen
to do; and it was with Alan, who had no good looks nor pleasant
manners--not Andrew, who had speaking eyes, and curls that "made
his forehead like the rising sun"; not Andrew, who gave her tender
glances and conversation peppermints that said "My heart is thine,"
but Alan, who took no notice whatever of her beyond an occasional
half-scornful bow.

Poor little Meg! She was very miserable in these days, and yet it
was a kind of exquisite mi