So the years wore on till, when they were eighteen, Mr. Cardus, after his sudden fashion, announced his intention of sending them both to Cambridge. Ernest always remembered it, for it was on that very day that he first made the acquaintance of Florence Ceswick. He had just issued from his uncle’s presence, and was seeking Dolly, to communicate the intelligence to her, when he suddenly blundered in upon old Miss Ceswick, and with her a young lady. This young lady, to whom Miss Ceswick introduced him as her niece, at once attracted his attention. On being introduced the girl, who was about his own age, touched his outstretched palm with her slender fingers, throwing on him at the same moment so sharp a look from her brown eyes that he afterwards declared to Jeremy that it seemed to go right through him. She was a remarkable-looking girl. The hair, which curled profusely over a shapely head, was, like the eyes, brown; the complexion olive, the features were small, and the lips full, curving over a beautiful set of teeth. In person she was rather short, but squarely built, and at her early age her figure was perfectly formed. Indeed, she might to all appearance have been much older than she was. There was little of the typical girl about her. While he was still observing her, his uncle came into the room, and was duly introduced by the old lady to her niece, who had, she said, come to share her loneliness. “And how do you like Kesterwick, Miss Florence?” asked Mr. Cardus, with his usual courtly smile. “It is much what I expected—a little duller, perhaps,” she answered composedly. “Ah, perhaps you have been accustomed to a gayer spot.” “Yes, till my mother died we lived at Brighton; there is plenty of life there. Not that we could mix in it, we were too poor; but at any rate we could watch it.” “Do you like life, Miss Florence?” “Yes, we only live such a short time. I should like,” she went on, throwing her head back, and half-closing her eyes, “to see as much as I can, and to exhaust every emotion.” “Perhaps, Miss Florence, you would find some of them rather unpleasant,” answered Mr. Cardus, with a smile. “Possibly, but it is better to travel through a bad country than to grow in a good one.” Mr. Cardus smiled again: the girl interested him rather. “Do you know, Miss Ceswick,” he said, changing the subject, and addressing the stately old lady, who was sitting smoothing her laces, and looking rather aghast at her niece’s utterances, “that this young gentleman is going to college, and Jeremy, too?” “Indeed,” said Miss Ceswick; “I hope that you will do great things there, Ernest.” While Ernest was disclaiming any intentions of the sort, Miss Florence cut in again, raising her eyes from a deep contemplation of that young gentleman’s long shanks, which were writhing under her keen glance, and twisting themselves serpent-wise round the legs of the chair. “I did not know,” she said, “that they took _boys_ at college.”