"Oh, that examination!" laughed Georgina; "it is turning some of their senses upside down. But now," she added, standing in front of Mr. St. John, "what am I to call you? Frederick?--Or am I to be formal, and say 'Mr. St. John?'" "You used to call me Fred." "But I was not a grown-up young lady then," making him a mock curtsey; "after all, I suppose I must call you Fred still, for I should be sure to lapse into it. Where have you been all this while? We have heard of you everywhere; in Paris, in Madrid, in Vienna, in Rome, in Antwerp, in----oh, all over the world." "I think I have been nearly all over Europe," said Mr. St. John. "Which of us has the most changed?" she abruptly asked, a curl of the finger indicating that she meant to speak of her cousin. "Sarah has not changed," he answered, turning to Sarah Beauclerc, and an involuntary tenderness was again perceptible in his tone. "You have not changed either, Georgie, in manner," he added, with a laugh. Georgina pouted. "You are not to call me 'Georgie' any longer, Mr. St. John." "Very well, Miss Beauclerc, our careless times have gone for ever, I suppose; old age is creeping upon us." "Don't be stupid," said Georgina. "Have you seen Lady Anne since your return?" "Yes." "You _have_!" she exclaimed, not expecting the answer. "I saw her in London, as I came through it." "Ah--yes--of course, I might have guessed that," was Georgina's rejoinder, spoken mysteriously. "Shall we have a battle royal?" "What do you mean?" asked Mr. St. John. "Between Lady Anne and another; you can't cut yourself in two, you know. Sarah, what's the matter with your face?" It was a very conscious face just then, and a very haughty one. St. John knitted his brows, as if he divined Georgina's meaning, and was angered at it; and he began speaking hastily. "Mine has been one of the pleasantest of tours. The galleries of paintings alone would have been worth----" "Now, Fred, if you begin upon that everlasting painting theme, you'll never leave off," unceremoniously interrupted Georgiana. "Mrs. St. John says paintings will be your ruin." "Does she?" "Your purse has a hole at both ends, she says, where pictures are concerned, and she wishes you had only a tithe of the prudence of Mr. Isaac St. John." Another slight knit of the brows. Sarah Beauclerc went to a side table and opened a book of views, taken in Spain, artistic sketches, exquisitely done. She turned her fair face to Mr. St. John. "Will you kindly tell me if these are correct, Mr. St. John? That is, if you are personally acquainted with the spots." He needed no second invitation. He did know the spots, and they bent over the views together, St. John growing eloquent. Henry Arkell, tolerably at home at the deanery, had drawn away from the group and was touching the keys of the piano; some sweet, extemporized melody, played so softly that it could scarcely be heard. Suddenly he found Georgina at his side.