‘Quite likely,’ said Roger; ‘the very kind of fellow that would write poetry and stuff--a sentimental duffer. To tell the truth,’ he added, with immense seriousness, ‘I don’t like to have little Cara exposed to all his rubbishing talk. She is as simple as a little angel, and believes all that’s said to her; and when a fellow like that gets a girl into a corner, and whispers and talks stuff----’ Roger continued, growing red and wroth. Agnes did not make any reply. She turned round to examine the school-books with a sudden start--and, oh me! what curious, sudden pang was that, as if an arrow had been suddenly shot at her, which struck right through her heart? ‘Cara should not let anyone whisper to her in corners,’ she said at last, with a little sharpness, after her first shock. ‘She is too young for anything of that sort; and she is old enough to know better,’ she added, more sharply still. But Roger did not notice this contradiction. He was too much interested to notice exactly what was said. ‘She is too young to be exposed to all that,’ he said, mournfully; ‘how is she to find out at seventeen which is false and which is true? There now, Agnes, see what you might have done, had not you shut yourself up here. Nothing so likely as that Cara would have asked you to go and pay her a visit--and you could have taken care of her. But you know how romantic poor dear Miss Cherry is--and I should not be a bit surprised if that child allowed herself to be taken in, and threw herself away.’