ed her ingenuity successfully to
induce little Selina to the boldness of calling him Matey--and she
then repeating it, as the woman who revived with a meditative effort
recollections of the girl. Ah, frightful hypocrite! Thoughts of the
pleasure of his name aloud on her lips in his hearing dissolved through
her veins, and were met by Matthew Weyburn's open face, before which
hypocrisy stood rent and stripped. She preferred the calmer, the truer
pleasure of seeing him modestly take lessons in the nomenclature of
weeds, herbs, grasses, by hedge and ditch. Selina could instruct him as
well in entomology, but he knew better the Swiss, Tyrolese, and Italian
valley-homes of beetle and butterfly species. Their simple talk was a
cool zephyr fanning Aminta.

The suggestion to unite the two came to her, of course, but their
physical disparity denied her that chance to settle her own difficulty,
and a whisper of one physically the match for him punished her. In
stature, in healthfulness, they were equals, perhaps: not morally or
intellectually. And she could claim headship of him on one little point
confided to her by his mother, who was bearing him, and startled by
the boom of guns under her pillow, when her husband fronted the enemy:
Matthew Weyburn, the fencer, boxer, cricketer, hunter, all things manly,
rather shrank from firearms--at least, one saw him put on a screw
to manipulate them. In danger--among brigands or mutineers,
for example--she could stand by him and prove herself his mate.
Intellectually, morally, she had to bow humbly. Nor had she, nor could
she do more than lean on and catch example from his prompt spiritual
valiancy. It shone out from him, and a crisis fulfilled the promise. Who
could be his mate for cheerful courage, for skill, the ready mind, easy
adroitness, and for self-command? To imitate was a woman's utmost.

Matthew Weyburn appeared the very Matey of the first of May cricketing
day among Cuper's boys the next morning, when seen pacing down the
garden-walk. He wore his white trousers of that happiest of old
days--the 'white ducks' Aminta and Selina remembered. Selina beamed.
'Yes, he did; he always wore them; but now it's a frock-coat instead of
a jacket.'

'But now he will be a master instead of a schoolboy,' said Aminta. 'Let
us hope he will prosper.'

'He gives me the idea of a man who must succeed,' Selina said; and she
was patted, rallied, asked how she had the idea, and kissed; Aminta
sayi