“Ain’t you never heard of her?” he demanded. “Why, everybody knew her at Miss Bellairs’s. But p’r’aps”--in a relieved sort of way--“p’r’aps you ain’t been here long. This is Ellen’s second year.” Miss Arnold felt slightly aggrieved. “I am a Senior,” she replied, and then added courteously, “but I am sure the loss has been mine.” She could not make this man out, quite--he was so evidently uncultivated, so rough and even uncouth, and yet there was a look of quiet power in his honest eyes, and he was so unaffectedly simple and kindly that she instinctively recognized the innate nobility of his character. She felt interested in him, but somewhat puzzled as to how to continue the conversation, and so she turned rather helplessly to her magazine. But he came over and stood beside her, looking down wonderingly at the unfamiliar words and accents. “Can you read all that?” he asked, doubtfully. Miss Arnold said “Yes.” “Jest like English?” he persisted. She explained that she had had a French nurse when she was little, and afterward a French governess, and that she had always spoken French as she had English. He seemed to be immensely impressed by that and looked at her very intently and admiringly, and then he suddenly looked away, and said, in a changed tone: “I never hed no French nurse fur Ellen. Lord! it wuz hard enough to get any kind in them days,” he said, regretfully. “But she’s been studyin’ French fur two years now--p’rhaps she speaks almost as good as you do by this time--she’s mighty smart.” Miss Arnold looked up quickly at the honest, kindly face above her with the hopeful expression in the eyes, and some sudden impulse made her say, quite cheerfully and assuringly, “Oh, yes--of course.” She was just going to add that she would go to the office and send someone to look for Miss Oldham, when a slender, rather pretty girl passed the library door, hesitated, peering through the half-light, and then came swiftly toward them. With a cry of inexpressible tenderness and delight the old man sprang toward her. “Ellen!” he said, “Ellen!” She clung to him for a few moments and then drew off rather shyly and awkwardly, with a sort of _mauvaise honte_ which struck disagreeably on Miss Arnold, and looked inquiringly and almost defiantly from her father to the girl watching them. “This young woman,” he said, understanding her unspoken inquiry, “has been very kind to me, Ellen--we’ve been talkin’.” Miss Arnold came forward. “I think we ought to be friends,” she said, graciously. “I am Clara Arnold. Your father tells me this is your Sophomore year.”