“Don't quote, Nora,” said Raine. “It is one of your bad habits. You are trying enough with your list of first lines of Horace; but you know nothing at all about Anacreon.” “I do!” she cried, wheeling round to face him. “Joshua was correcting the proofs of his edition during our honeymoon. I used to make him translate them--it was a way of getting him to make love to me. There! Now I'll repeat it:” [Greek 3098-2] “Oh, my dear Raine, it is too delicious! You, of all people in the world!” “Then your verdict is that I am supremely ridiculous?” “I am afraid I must say it strikes me in that light.” “Thanks,” said Raine serenely. “That was what I was trying to get at. I have been jesting a little, but there is a substratum of truth in my confession. You confirm me in my own opinion--I am supremely ridiculous. I like to make certain of things. It is so futile to have this complicated state of mind--I hate it.” “Do you?” said Mrs. Monteith. “How different from a woman; there is nothing she enjoys more.” After Raine had taken her back to her charges, he remained to exchange a few civilities with the St. John's people and their wives, and then strolled back to his own college. He mounted his staircase, with a smile on his lips, recalling his conversation with his cousin. How far had he been in earnest? He could scarcely tell. Certainly both Katherine and Felicia had attracted him during his Christmas visit. He had been thrown into more intimate contact with them than he usually was with women. Perhaps that was the reason that they stood out distinct against the half-known feminine group whom he was accustomed to meet at the crowded afternoon receptions to which Oxford society is addicted. Perhaps, too, the fact of his going from Oxford, where men are a glut in the market, to the Pension Boccard, where they are at an extravagant premium, had something to do with it. Some unsuspected index in his robust organization was sensitive to the sudden leap in values. Whatever was the reason, he retained a vivid impression of the two personalities, and, as he had written to his father--in the same half-jesting strain as he had talked with his cousin--he found himself bound to admit that filial duty was not the only magnet that attracted him to Geneva. As for his disinclination to bind himself to a definite mountaineering engagement with Rogers and his party, he was glad of these nebulous fancies as affording him a conscientious reason. The Junior Dean was an excellent fellow and an Alpine enthusiast, but he was apt to be academic, even on the top of the Jungfrau.