"Oh! is that all?" he said, cheerily. "I am very fond of bread and
milk."

"And then," went on Angela with her confession, "we never drink wine,
and I know that gentlemen do."

"I am a teetotaller, so that does not matter."

"Really?"

"Yes--really."

"But then, you know, my father shuts himself up all day, so that you
will have nobody but myself to talk to."

"Oh! never mind"--encouragingly. "I am sure that we shall get on."

"Well, if, in spite of all this and a great deal more--ah! a very
great deal that I have not time to tell you--you still care to come, I
will do my best to amuse you. At any rate, we can read together; that
will be something, if you don't find me too stupid. You must remember
that I have only had a private education, and have never been to
college like you. I shall be glad of the opportunity of rubbing up my
classics a little; I have been neglecting them rather lately, and
actually got into a mess over a passage in Aristophanes that I shall
ask you to clear up."

This was enough for Arthur, whose knowledge of the classics was that
of the ordinary University graduate; he turned the subject with
remarkable promptitude.

"Tell me," he said, looking her straight in the face, "are you glad
that I am coming?"

The grey eyes dropped a little before the boldness of his gaze, but
she answered, unhesitatingly,

"Yes, for my own sake I am glad; but I fear that you will find it very
dull."

"Come, Angela, we must be off; I want to be home by a quarter to six,"
said Philip just then.

She rose at once and shook hands with Arthur, murmuring, "Good-by till
to-morrow morning," and then with Lady Bellamy.

George, meanwhile, with the most unwonted hospitality, was pressing
her father to stay to dinner, and, when he declined, announcing his
intention of coming over to see him on the morrow. At last he got
away, but not before Lady Bellamy had bid him a seemingly cordial
adieu.

"You and your charming daughter must come and see me at Rewtham House,
when we get in. What, have you not heard that Sir John has bought it
from poor Maria Lee's executors?"

Philip turned pale as death, and hurried from the room.

"It is good," reflected Lady Bellamy, as she watched the effect of her
shaft, "to let him know that I never forget."

But, even when her father had gone, the path was still blocked to
Angela.

"What!" said George, who was, when in an amiable mood, that worst of
all cads, a jocose ca