"Don't be silly," she reproved. "Why don't you go on with it now? Can't you, dear? Please. Oh, how I'd love to see you win it; and you can if you'll only try!" She clasped her hands eagerly and leaned in front of him. "Do you suppose I could?" he asked, with some show of earnestness. "Of course you could!" she cried. "Do try, Jack, dear; please do; for my sake." The shade was deep where they were, and he stopped the horse and they remained there a space. She planned for him gaily. "If I could only help you," she murmured tenderly. "You can--by loving me," he said. She looked away. "If I do take up the work to win," he went on, "it'll mean I can't come down so often. How would you like that?" he asked, playfully. "I shouldn't care." Then she added quickly, a little frightened by the look he gave her. "You know, dear, I didn't mean that! I mean I could stand it--I could stand it for your sake." "So we both might be happier in the end." At his words she looked away again. "Yes," she repeated slowly--"so we both might be happier in the end. Won't you try?" she asked eagerly, after the moment's silence that ensued. He did not answer her at once. Then suddenly he flapped the reins upon the horse's back and touched the sleek animal with the whip. "Gad! I will!" he exclaimed. And looking at her he saw a mist in her eyes, and that she had drawn her lower lip between her teeth, which were white upon it. Moved by her emotion he asked, gently: "Are you glad?" "Oh, so glad!" she answered, and there was a tremor in her voice. "I know you'll win," she went on after a moment. "I know, at least you'll make the effort, for you've promised me. You always keep your promises to me, don't you, Jack?" He laughed lightly. "I couldn't do otherwise," he said. "I couldn't if I tried." He felt her hand upon his arm, and his heart at that moment filled to overflowing with love for her.... "Crowley, you old parson, I'm going to win that Athens scholarship or bust--or _bust_; do you understand!" he exploded, later in the day, before his room-mate. Crowley looked up from the three open books on the table over which he was bent. "Good for you!" he cried. "Gad; you're more apt to win it now than I am the Rome--the way the work is going." "You'd better look to your laurels," was the bantering reply. "You just note your little Johnnie's smoke. If he doesn't make the rest of the bunch that's on the same scent look like thirty cents, a year from next June, he'll go jump off the dock; and upon you will devolve the cheerful duty of telegraphing papa!" And the next day he began.