"But—" when they had had a laugh—"it isn't as if Tom knew a great deal, and could teach one what is worth knowing. That would be different. Tom only looks upon the world as a great museum of curiosities; and all he cares for is to get up a little imitation museum of 'specimens,' pegged down in rows. And surely this beautiful world means a great deal more than that—a great great deal more," Ethel went on, warming with her subject. "Sometimes I get so cross, I should like to peg down Tom himself as a dried 'specimen of the modern scientific young man.' But that wouldn't be fair; for a really scientific man, who knows about things, not only about names, is different from poor old Tom. And I suppose it is not his fault that he can't see below the surface." If "poor old Tom" had but heard! At this very moment he was seated beside Mrs. Elvey, complacently and ponderously giving forth his views on the "intelligence" of Ethel. "Such a nice unassuming girl, and so ready to be taught!" quoth unsuspecting Tom. "Of course I have the chief part of it all," pursued Ethel, resting one hand upon the vestry table, and smiling still. "My father and Malcolm are very busy just now—extra busy; and I can't let them be teased. And mother only cares to talk to Tom now and then; and the boys detest him. It has been such a day, none of us could get out much; and I thought at last I must have half-an-hour's peace. So I slipped away without telling Tom, and here I am. But I didn't come for nonsense," she said, with dropped voice and sudden soberness. "I almost forgot where we were—seeing you, and—It was just that I wanted a little quiet, to think about Christmas, and—and the kind of life one ought to lead." A look showed appreciation. "Couldn't I help you with the holly?" "I don't know—thanks. I can hardly stay long enough to make it worth while. I shall have helpers to-morrow." Ethel was waking up to the fact that it would not do for her to remain here, after dark, alone with Nigel. It would not quite do, old friend and playfellow though he was. "There is poor Tom, you know," said Ethel, the light fading out of her eyes. She had so enjoyed this little bout of unrestrained talk, and now she began to wonder at her own unrestraint. But Tom's sting was gone. "Poor fellow! Shall we go and have a lesson from him together in Latin terminations?" Nigel asked joyously. "Is Mr. Browning better to-night?" inquired Ethel, struck with the light-hearted manner. "No; I'm afraid not. I can never tell you about him now, you are always so busy. Couldn't you sit down for five minutes?" "I don't think I ought." Ethel leant against the table, grave again, and a little anxious. Had she gone too far, shown too much pleasure at seeing Nigel? Had she not broken through her own resolution?