To him, as to her, the situation imparted an awkwardness now, that of course he had never been conscious of when a boy. He did not want the money of his cousin or of anyone else, as he muttered to himself while tugging and twisting his thick, dark moustache; and thus, with all the tenderness that was growing in his heart for Olive, he often unconsciously adopted towards her a studied courtesy and almost indifferent bearing that somewhat galled her ready pride, and made her think 'this indifference to me, and the beauty all men aver I possess, can only spring from a love he bears some one else; and, with that love in his heart, he seems actually ready to conform to the outrageous wishes of papa!' And more convinced of this suspicion did she become when she found that he evinced no more desire to seek her society than that of his mother or sister; but this was the result of her own bearing. Allan was ere long in sore perplexity. The slightest attempt at tenderness she repelled or seemed to shrink from, as a sensitive plant shrinks from the touch; and, on the other hand, the lack of it seemed to increase her coldness and rouse her sense of pride. 'What the deuce is the meaning of this?' muttered Allan, as he chanced upon a volume one day. It was a very handsome and expensive edition of some of Byron's poems, which had been given by Hawke Holcroft to Olive as a birthday gift, and on turning over the leaves of which he found innumerable paragraphs and lines pencilled on pages that seemed to fall naturally open, where these marks, all of which referred to love and passion, were most plentiful. All of these seemed to have been selected with an ulterior view for her perusal and study. Allan knit his brows and tossed the volume to the other side of the table. 'So, so,' thought he, 'Cousin Olive has had a guide for her reading, and the guide is that fellow Holcroft. He has made good use of his time, hang him!' Olive, who had been watching him under the deep fringes of her eyes, smiled when she saw the action, and, instantly divining the reason of it, resolved not to leave her Byron lying about in future; and now a new mood seized her. 'Tell me, Allan,' she said, suddenly looking up from a piece of music she was studying, 'did you ever think of me at all when you were all these years far away in India?' 'Have you forgotten what I told you on the evening we met on the lawn?' said he, reproachfully, yet surprised by her taking the initiative in a conversation, especially of this kind. 'Often, indeed, did I think of you!' 'How--in what fashion?' 'As my merry little playmate when I was a mere youth--the droll girl to whom I was somehow tied up under Uncle Raymond's will.' 'You phrase it rightly,' said she, biting her coral nether lip. 'Tied up; yes, but I won't be so. Yet you did think of me as a droll little playmate?' 'Yes; how else could I think of you? Not as the lovely girl I find you now, Olive.'