In the end she must love him. His college career would come to an end in June; after that should come another career in which his curriculum should be Margaret and of which the degree should be Margaret’s love. But suddenly his pleasant confidence received a shock. What if there should be――was――some one else? He sat up and blinked in consternation at the firelight. What about that other chap, that cousin? What was his name? Willis? Who the deuce was this Willis and where did he come in? He dropped his head back on the pillow. He would find out about this Nate――that was it!――Nate Willis. He would――ask Phillip――in――the morn―――― Then he commenced snoring peacefully. Sunday came and went, and Monday, and Tuesday, with untroubled skies, brisk, mellow noons and frosty nights. The ice formed hard on the little ponds and they went skating. And they shot more partridges, and rode and drove; and to John every moment was filled with pleasure. And yet his love affair progressed not at all. Strive as he might to find or beguile Margaret away from the companionship of Mrs. Ryerson or Phillip or from the mysterious duties that kept her so much of the time in that impenetrable region of the house reigned over by Aunt Cicely, he was always unsuccessful. To be sure――and here was doubtful cause for self-gratulation――Margaret’s manner toward him was what it had been of old, before she had found it necessary to hate him. But John wasn’t satisfied. Meanwhile he had disposed of Nate Willis――or, rather, Phillip had done it for him. And no other pretender had appeared on the horizon. John found encouragement in these facts. But meanwhile, too, his stay at Elaine was already half over, for he had promised David to come to him in New York the next Sunday. He sighed dolefully and for a minute entertained the wild idea of telegraphing David that he was dead and couldn’t join him. But, as he realized with a grin the next moment, that wouldn’t do, for Davy would be certain to come down to the funeral.