, thoughtfully;
"to be despised, and out at elbows, and down in the world, is the sure
way to Barbara's heart."

I had meant to have drawn for him a pleasant and yet most true picture
of her sweet disinterestedness, but his uneasy vanity takes it amiss.

"As it entails being enrolled among the blind and lame," he says,
smiling sarcastically, and flushing a little, "I am afraid I shall never
get there."

A moment ago I had felt hardly less than sisterly toward him. Now I look
at him with a disgustful and disapprobative eye. What a very great deal
of alteration he needs, and, with that face, and his abbey, and all his
rooks to back it, how very unlikely he is to get it! Well, _I_ at least
will do my best!

We both remain quiet for a few moments. Vick sits at the end of the
punt, a shiver of excitement running all over her little white body, her
black nose quivering, and one lip slightly lifted by a tooth, as she
gazes with eager gravity at the distant wild-ducks flying along in a
row, with outstretched necks, making their pleasant quacks. How low they
fly; so low that their feet splash in the water, that makes a bright
spray-hue in the sun!

"Algy is going away to-morrow!" say I, presently.

"So he told me."

"This is his last evening here!" (in a rather dolorous tone).

"So I should gather," laughing a little at the obviousness of my last
piece of information.

"And yet," say I, looking down through the clear water at a dead
tree-bough lying at the bottom, and sighing, "he is going to dine out
to-night--to dine with Mrs. Huntley."

"With Mrs. Huntley! when?" with a long-drawn whistle of intelligence.

"Tell me," cry I, impulsively, raising myself from my reclining pose,
and sitting upright, "you will understand better than I do--perhaps it
is my mistake--but, if you had seen a person only _once_ for five or ten
minutes, would you sign yourself 'Yours very sincerely' to them?"

He laughs dryly.

"Not unless I was writing _after dinner_--why?"

"Nothing--no reason!"

Again he laughs.

"I think I can guess."

"Her name is Zephine," say I again, leaning over the boat-side and
pulling my forefinger slowly to and fro through the warm brown water.

"I am well aware of that fact" (smiling).

How near the swans are drawing toward us! One, with his neck well thrown
back, and his wings raised and ruffled, sailing along like a lovely
snow-white ship; another, with less grace and more homeliness, standing
on