“I do not think so,” said Paula. “At least his father is really an artist, but he is drawing-master at the High School, and Hubert works for this firm. They are not what you call in society, and our sister is all for getting in with Lady Merrifield and General Mohun and all the swells, so it would never do for him to call.” “She would first be stiff and stuck up,” said Vera, “and I could not stand that.” “I thought she was so kind,” said Mena. “You don’t understand,” said Vera. “She would be kind to a workman in a fever; but this sort—oh, no.” “To be on an equality with the man painting the church?” said Paula. “No, indeed! not if he were Fra Angelico and Ary Scheffer and Michelangelo rolled into one.” At that moment the subject referred to in that mighty conglomeration reappeared. He was a handsome young man, his touch of Italian blood showing just enough to give him a romantic air; and Sister Philomena listened, much impressed by the interchange of question and answer about “Edie and Nellie,” and the dear Warings, and the happy Christmas at the Grange; and Vera blushed again, and Paula coloured in sympathy, as it appeared that Mr. Delrio had never had such a splendid time. The colloquy was ended by Mr. Flight being descried, approaching with his mother, whereupon the two girls fled away like guilty creatures. Presently Vera exclaimed, “Oh, Polly dear, what a complication! Poor dear fellow! he cares for me as much as ever.” “And you will be staunch to him in spite of all the worldly allurements,” said Paula. “Well, I mean Mr. Wilfred Merrifield is not half so handsome,” returned Vera. “Nor is he engaged in sacred work; only bent on frivolity,” said Paula; “yet see how the M.A. encourages him with tennis and games and nonsense.” Poor M.A., when the encouragement had only been some general merriment, and a few games on the lawn Paulina, who had heard many confidences when Vera returned from Waring Grange, believed altogether in the true love of the damsel and Hubert Delrio, who had been wont to single out the prettiest of the girls at Filstead, and she was resolved to do all she could in their cause, being schoolgirl enough to have no scruple as to secrecy towards Magdalen, though on the next opportunity she poured out all to Sister Philomena’s by no means unwilling ears. Lovers had never fallen within the young Sister’s experience, either personally or through friends; and they had only been revealed to her in a few very carefully-selected tales, where they were more the necessary machinery than the main interest, for she had been bred up in an orphanage by Sister Beata, and had never seen beyond it. So to her Paula’s story, little as there was of it, was a perfect romance, and it gained in colour when she related it to her senior.