John shut up the great folio book on ornithology which he had been studying when Mr. Bolton arrived, and picked up some water-colour drawings of different wild birds which lay beside the book. They were exquisitely finished, and, as one could see, copied by a faithful and loving hand, from nature. ‘I promised these things to Nita,’ he casually observed. ‘Perhaps she won’t care much about them now. But I will take them, at any rate.’ Mr. Bolton picked them up and looked at them. ‘They are very nice,’ he observed. ‘I wish some other people had such innocent tastes and habits, and would confine their studies to natural objects like these.’ John laughed, a little sarcastically, as he put away his book, and taking the sketches in his hand announced that he was ready. ‘When Nita is married–or if she marries, Jack, you’ll have to look out for a wife yourself,’ observed Mr. Bolton. ‘Perhaps Nita will look out for some one, then, and do the courting for me,’ said John, drily. ‘I have no mind to begin it on my own account–and am not likely to find favour if I did.’ ‘There you talk rubbish, despite that sage head of yours,’ replied his elderly friend. ‘Suppose you delegate the choice to my cousin; she has a wonderfully good opinion of you.’ John laughed aloud. ‘If her opinion of me is so high, it might be a dangerous thing to confide the choice to her,’ he remarked. ‘She might take a fancy to Abbot’s Knoll, and the master of it!’ exclaimed Mr. Bolton, highly delighted. ‘There is no accounting for the presumptuous fancies which enter a young man’s head. Here we are!’ They had gone in, little suspecting the scene which was even then coming to an end, and the rest of the evening had been passed as has been related. Jerome naturally knew nothing of all this conversation. He went to the Abbey the following morning, and there was an unpleasantly-suggestive rhyme running in his head as he took his way there–that rhyme which gives the excellent advice: ‘Be sure you’re well off with the old love Before you are on with the new.’ He found Nita at home, and alone–startled and surprised to see him; overwhelmed with confusion as the sight of him recalled the scene of last night. Muttering some incoherent words she would have made her escape, but Jerome stopped her, and taking her hands, looked into her face with an expression of such intense gravity, even severity, that she gazed up at him spell-bound and fascinated. ‘Did your father say anything to you this morning about me?’ he asked. ‘No,’ whispered Nita. ‘Why–what–he has not told you to go away–oh, he has not told you that?’ ‘No. We were talking about you last night, Nita, and he told me this, that if you would marry me, I might stay; but if not, _then_ I was to go. What do you say? May I stay? Will you let me try to make you happy, or must I go?’