ey fervently hoped
not--unless it were his mother. And here Audrey reddened at the
remembrance of certain vague hints and innuendoes that had latterly made
her uncomfortable, and hindered her from going to the Gray Cottage.

'Perhaps I am too friendly with him. I do not check him sufficiently,'
she thought. 'But he has never said such things before. He ought not; I
must not allow it. What would Gage or Michael say? Dear old Michael! how
excited he is about our Scotch trip! He says he shall be so pleased to
have my undivided attention again. I wonder, have I been less nice to
Michael lately? He has certainly seemed more dull than usual. I will
make up for it--I will indeed! Michael shall never be dull if I can help
it, I mean to devote myself to him.' And then Audrey took up her pen
with a sigh. Was she really glad the term was so nearly over? It had
been such a nice summer. Of course she would enjoy Scotland, with all
her own people round her, and there would be Kester. Kester would write
to his brother sometimes, and, of course, there would be letters in
reply. That would be pleasant. Oh yes, everything was delightful! And
with this final thought Audrey set herself resolutely to work, and
finished her letter just in time to see Cyril take his leave. He had
waited for her with the utmost impatience, but when Mrs. Ross complained
of chilliness, and proposed to return to the house, he had no excuse for
lingering any longer, and Michael, with some alacrity, had accompanied
him to the gate.

CHAPTER XVI

MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG

'Nothing is true but love, nor aught of worth;
Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth.'

TRENCH.

'Oh dear, Miss Ross, what shall I do without you for seven whole weeks?'
was Mollie's piteous lament one morning. Audrey was on her knees packing
a huge travelling box, and Mollie, seated on the edge of a chair, was
regarding her with round, melancholy eyes. It was the first day of the
vacation, and Rutherford looked as empty and deserted as some forsaken
city. Utter silence reigned in the lower school, from which the fifty
boys had departed; and Mrs. Draper, the matron, had uttered more than
once her usual formula of parting benediction as the last urchin drove
off: 'There, bless them! they are all packed off, bag and baggage, thank
Heaven! and not a missing collar or sock among them'--an ejaculation
that Michael once