y a very few years earlier. He resented these bereavements
and the atmosphere which they disengaged. He wanted a different
atmosphere.

"Is the exam. really all right?" she appealed to him, taking both his
hands and leaning against him and looking up into his face.

"What did I tell you in my letter?"

"Yes, I know."

"The exam. is as right as rain."

"I knew it would be."

"You didn't," he laughed. He imitated her: "'Is the exam. really all
right?'" She just smiled. He went on confidently: "Of course you never
know your luck, you know. There's the viva to-morrow.... Where's old
Agg?"

"She's gone home."

"Thoughtful child! How soon will she be back?"

"About nine," said Marguerite, apparently unaware that George was being
funny.

"Nine!"

"Oh, George!" Marguerite exclaimed, breaking away from him. "I'm awfully
sorry, but I must get on with my packing."

"What packing?"

"I have to take my things home."

"What home?"

"Father's, I mean."

She was going to live with her father, who would not willingly allow
him, George, to enter the house! How astounding girls were! She had
written to him twice without giving the least hint of her resolve. He
had to learn it as it were incidentally, through the urgency of packing.
She did not tell him she was going--she said she must get on with her
packing! And there, lying on the floor, was an open trunk; and two of
her drawing-boards already had string round them.

George inquired:

"How is the old man--to-day?"

"He's very nervy," said Marguerite briefly and significantly. "I'd
better light the lamp; I shall see better." She seemed to be speaking to
herself. She stood on a chair and lifted the chimney off the central
lamp. George absently passed her his box of matches.

As she, was replacing the chimney, he said suddenly in a very resolute
tone:

"This is all very well, Marguerite. But it's going to be jolly awkward
for me."

She jumped lightly down from the chair, like a little girl.

"Oh! George! I know!" she cried. "It will be awkward for both of us. But
we shall arrange something." She might have resented his tone. She might
have impulsively defended herself. But she did not. She accepted his
attitude with unreserved benevolence. Her gaze was marvellously
sympathetic.

"I can't make out what your father's got against me," said George
angrily, building his vexation on her benevolence. "What have I done, I
should like to know."

"It's simply be