‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Sir Frederick, but I thought that perhaps Charley might be here.’ ‘Good-morning, Miss Brandon,’ said Sir Frederick as he held out his hand.—‘And pray, who is Charley?’ ‘Charley Summers, of course—Captain Bowood’s nephew.’ ‘But I was under the impression that Captain Bowood had discarded his nephew?’ ‘So he has. Cut off his allowance, and forbade him the house eight months ago.’ ‘And yet you expect to see him here to-day?’ The Baronet was always interested in the affairs of his neighbours, especially when those neighbours happened to be people of property. ‘I don’t mind telling you, but I had a note from Charley this morning—on the sly, you know.’ ‘Pardon me, but young ladies in society don’t generally say “on the sly.”’ ‘Charley says it, and he was educated at Harrow. Anyhow, I had a note from him, in which he said that he should certainly contrive to see me to-day. It’s a great risk for him to run, of course; but that won’t deter him in the least.’ ‘You appear to be greatly interested in the young gentleman.’ ‘Don’t call him a young gentleman, please—it sounds so awfully formal. Didn’t I tell you that we are in love? No; I don’t think I did. Well, we are. It’s a secret at present, and there are all sorts of dreadful obstacles in the way. But we have made up our minds to get married by-and-by, or else we shall commit suicide and die together.’ As Miss Brandon spoke thus, she flung into the air the Latin grammar she had been carrying and caught it deftly as it fell. ‘That would indeed be a terrible fate,’ said the Baronet with a smile. ‘By Jove, though, Sir Frederick, but we are serious!’ ‘Young ladies in society don’t generally say “by Jove.”’ ‘Charley does, and he was educated at Harrow.’ From a pocket in her dress she drew a box of bon-bons, opened it and popped one between her teeth. Then she proffered the box to Sir Frederick. ‘Have one?’ she said with all the nonchalance imaginable.—The Baronet smiled, and shook his head.—‘You need not notice my fingers, please,’ continued Miss Brandon. ‘I’ve inked them. Somehow, I always do ink them when I’ve an extra hard lesson to learn.—But I say, Sir Frederick, isn’t it a jolly shame that a great girl like me should still be learning lessons? I’m seventeen years two months and four days old.’ ‘Young ladies’—— ‘I know what you are going to say. I learned the word from Charley, so it must be right. Well, it _is_ a shame. I’ve a great mind to run away. I’ve five pounds saved up.’ ‘Perhaps Charley, as you call him, might not like you to do that.’ ‘No; I suppose not; and I must study him, poor boy. It’s an awful responsibility—sometimes my brain reels under it.’ Again the Latin grammar was flung high into the air and caught as it fell. ‘Is that the way you always learn your lessons, Miss Brandon?’ ‘Not always. But, I say—I _do_ hate Latin. I shall never learn it; and if I were to learn it, it would never be of any use to me.’