Although the school at Dresden was notably strict _et bien surveillé_, nevertheless the Teuton atmosphere breathes romance and sentiment, and a certain amount of this had penetrated through the secluded walls of Madam Franck’s establishment; girls whispered to one another of love’s young dream, yes, and of--lovers. Also, in the vacation spent in Dresden, Letty had read not a few selected novels, including those by Sir Walter Scott, Mrs. Gaskell, and Miss Young. As for her favourite heroes, she was divided between Sir Guy Morville and Wilfred of Ivanhoe. Since she had made Mr. Lumley’s acquaintance, Wilfred the Palmer bore away the palm. The fresh imagination of Sweet Seventeen discovered a remarkable resemblance between the twelfth-century crusader, and the smart young officer of the present day--both had grey eyes, and crisp light hair, both were soldiers and bold horsemen. Besides certain attributes shared with the disinherited knight, Lancelot Lumley danced admirably, had an infectious laugh, and a delightful personality, that set one immediately at ease. As she compared his light, active figure and clean-cut, tanned face, to her aunt’s beau-ideal, Mr. Blagdon, with his ponderous form, brick-coloured countenance, and heavily scented person, the young lady threw up her chin with a gesture of scornful disparagement. She recalled Lumley’s glance of profound interest and respectful homage, and then thought, with a shudder, of Blagdon’s insatiable black eyes--these looked as if their owner, like some fabled monster, was prepared to devour her alive! Miss Glyn had only met Mr. Lumley on five occasions, and yet she remembered almost every sentence they had exchanged--especially what _he_ had said--oh fatal, fatal symptom in the case of a maiden, who has never yet encountered an object on which to lavish the overflowing tenderness of a warm and innocent heart. Secretly, she looked forward to their next meeting; she liked to hear of him (already ‘Him’ with a capital). His name casually mentioned, caused her pulse to flutter and her colour to rise. At the Rectory, she listened thirstily to tales of Lance’s boyish scrapes, and Lance’s successes; anecdotes of his generosity, unselfishness, and courage, were poured into the girl’s enchanted ears--for next to Mabel the boy was a favourite topic,--and to talk long and copiously to a sympathetic companion, was one of the invalid’s few remaining pleasures. Meanwhile, the girl mended lace, or made neat covers for books in the parish library, and absorbed many intoxicating impressions. * * * * *