n't that--she has a sense of humour, and she doesn't rub things
in. You know how if one meets a real artist in anything--a writer, a
painter, a musician--and finds them at work, it seems almost the only
thing worth doing. Well, Aunt Anne gives me the same sort of sense
about religion when I am with her; and yet when I come away, and see
how badly other people handle it, it seems a very dull business."

"That's interesting," said Howard musingly; "but I am really ashamed to
suggest going there. She has asked me so often, and I have sent such
idiotic excuses."

"Oh, you needn't mind that," said Monica; "she isn't a huffy person. I
know she would like to see you--she said to me once that the idea of
coming didn't seem to amuse you, but she seemed disposed to sympathise
with you for that. Just write and say you would like to go."

"I think I will," said Howard, "and I have another reason why I should
like to go. You know Jack Sandys, your cousin, now my pupil. He is
rather a fascinating youth. His father is parson there, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Monica; "there are two hamlets, Windlow and Windlow Malzoy,
both in the same parish. The church and vicarage are at Malzoy; but
Frank is rather a terror--my word, how that man talks! But I like Jack,
though I have only seen him half a dozen times--that reminds me that I
must have him to dinner or something--and I like his sister even
better. But I am afraid that Jack may turn out a bore too--he is rather
charming at present, because he says whatever comes into his head; and
it's all quite fresh; but that is what poor Cousin Frank does--only
it's not at all fresh! However, there's nothing like living with a bore
to teach one the merits of holding one's tongue. Poor old Frank! I
thought he would be the death of us all one evening at Windlow. He
simply couldn't stop, and he had a pathetic look in his eye, as if he
was saying, 'Can't anyone assist me to hold my tongue?'"

Howard laughed and got up. "Well," he said, "I'll take your advice. I
don't know anyone like you, Monnie, for making up one's mind. You
crystallise things. I shall like to see Aunt Anne, and I shall like to
see Jack at home; and meanwhile will you think the matter over, and
give me a lead? I don't want to leave Cambridge at all, but I would
rather do that than go sour, as some people do!"

"Yes," said Monica, "when you get beneath the surface, Cambridge is
rather a sad place. There are a good many disappointed men