He used generally to give a half-contemptuous nod as he passed the little group, uncovering his head for the shortest possible period consistent with civility, and making his way to the far end of the boat.  One time as he passed them Aldith was drooping her lashes and using her eyes with great effect, and Meg was almost positive she heard him mutter under his breath, “Silly young fools!” He used to smoke at his end of the boat—­cigars at the beginning of term and a short, black, villainous-looking pipe at the end—­ and Meg used secretly to think how manly he looked, and to sigh profoundly.

For I may as well tell you now as later what this foolish little thing had done after a few months’ course of Aldith and novels.  She had fallen in love as nearly as it is possible for sweet sixteen to do; and it was with Alan, who had no good looks nor pleasant manners—­not Andrew, who had speaking eyes, and curls that “made his forehead like the rising sun”; not Andrew, who gave her tender glances and conversation peppermints that said “My heart is thine,” but Alan, who took no notice whatever of her beyond an occasional half-scornful bow.

Poor little Meg!  She was very miserable in these days, and yet it was a kind of exquisite misery that she hugged to her to keep it warm.  No one guessed her secret.  She would have died rather than allow even Aldith to get a suspicion of it, and accepted Andrew’s notes and smiles as if there was nothing more she wanted.  But she grew a trifle thin and large-eyed, and used to make copious notes in her diary every night, and to write a truly appalling quantity of verses, in which “heart” and “part,” “grieve” and “leave,” “weep” and “keep,” and “sigh” and “die,” were most often the concluding words of the lines.  She endured Andrew for several reasons.  He was Alan’s brother for one thing, and was always saying things about “old Al,” and recording his prowess on the football field; and Aldith might discover her secret if she gave him the cold shoulder altogether.  Besides this Andrew had the longest eyelashes she had ever seen and she must have somebody to say pretty things to her, even if it was not the person she would have wished it to be.

One day things came to a crisis.

“No more trips on the dear old boat for a month,” Aldith remarked, from her corner of the cabin.

“This is appalling!  Whatever do you mean, Miss MacCarthy?” James Graham said, with exaggerated despair in his voice.

“Monsieur H—–­ has given the class a month’s holiday.  He is going to Melbourne,” Aldith returned, with a sigh.

Meg echoed it as in duty bound, and Andrew said fiercely that hanging was too good for Monsieur H—–.  What did he mean by such inhuman conduct, he should like to know; and however were Jim and himself to maintain life in the meantime?

“It was James who speedily thought of a way out.”

“Couldn’t we go for a walk somewhere one evening—­just we four?” he said insinuatingly.