There was no false delicacy about Phillip’s love-making. He was in love and didn’t care who knew it. The Southern male creature accepts sentiment as a natural accompaniment to youth and is no more ashamed of being in love than he is of being a gentleman. If he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, at least he does not hide it in his boots. There was a frankness and wholesomeness about Phillip’s wooing of Betty that appealed to Betty’s people even while it amused them. Mrs. Kingsford considered it a boy and girl affair, loath to own even to herself that Betty had reached an age when her affections might become seriously engaged, and negatively countenanced it. Betty’s father uttered a good many mild jokes at Betty’s expense and pretended to be fearful of an elopement. But he liked Phillip, and acknowledged to himself that if assiduity and perseverance counted for anything that youth had an excellent chance of some day becoming his son-in-law. Everett, in the manner of the elder brother the world over, found in Betty’s wooing food for much open amusement, and plagued both her and Phillip whenever possible, until he found that neither one minded it in the least. As for Betty herself, what she thought about it was difficult to tell. None knew save herself; Phillip least of all. Just so long as he was content to conceal his ardour under the semblance of ordinary friendship, Betty was kindness itself; admiration temperately expressed was received demurely and as a matter of course. But the first word of serious love-making summoned dire frowns and a chilliness of demeanour that cast Phillip into dismal abysses of doubt and despair, from which he was only rescued by the merciful Betty after repeated assertions of repentance and vows of future good behaviour. And thus December wore on and the Christmas recess approached. Aside from Phillip’s love affairs, the only incident concerning the persons of this story worthy of note is the election of John in mid-December to the office of Class Day Secretary, and the selection, a week prior, of Guy Bassett for Vice-President of the Freshman Class. The latter event was duly celebrated in Guy’s room at a Saturday night orgy of beer and cavendish. There was no poker. Of late――in fact, since Phillip had lost a month’s allowance to Guy and had paid it with exemplary promptness――their host had on every occasion shown a strange disinclination for cards and had politely but firmly refused to produce them. To-night he offered a new explanation: “As Vice-President of the Class, it behooves me to set an example of righteousness to you and Phil. The vice-presidency is an office created for a purpose, and that purpose is the moral betterment of the class. Although I say it who shouldn’t, Chesty, the selection of myself for the position was a wise step. I am firmly convinced that I was cut out for a home missionary.” “You be blowed,” answered Chester in disgust. “I saw you playing cards at the Union the other night.”