But Hepburn refused the offer rather abruptly. He drew near to Sylvia instead. He wanted to make her speak to him, and he saw that she wished to avoid it. He took up the readiest pretext. It was an unwise one as it proved, for it deprived him of his chances of occasionally obtaining her undivided attention. 'I don't think you care much for learning geography, Sylvie?' 'Not much to-night,' said she, making a pretence to yawn, yet looking timidly up at his countenance of displeasure. 'Nor at any time,' said he, with growing anger; 'nor for any kind of learning. I did bring some books last time I came, meaning to teach you many a thing--but now I'll just trouble you for my books; I put them on yon shelf by the Bible.' He had a mind that she should bring them to him; that, at any rate, he should have the pleasure of receiving them out of her hands. Sylvia did not reply, but went and took down the books with a languid, indifferent air. 'And so you won't learn any more geography,' said Hepburn. Something in his tone struck her, and she looked up in his face. There were marks of stern offence upon his countenance, and yet in it there was also an air of wistful regret and sadness that touched her. 'Yo're niver angry with me, Philip? Sooner than vex yo', I'll try and learn. Only, I'm just stupid; and it mun be such a trouble to you.' Hepburn would fain have snatched at this half proposal that the lessons should be continued, but he was too stubborn and proud to say anything. He turned away from the sweet, pleading face without a word, to wrap up his books in a piece of paper. He knew that she was standing quite still by his side, though he made as if he did not perceive her. When he had done he abruptly wished them all 'good-night,' and took his leave.