"There, I knew you would say so. And if it were true, I'm sure it isn't wrong. When people talk to you, it 's so easy to seem pleased and interested in what they are saying; and then they like you, and it is so pleasant to be liked. Now, Katie, do you ever snap people's noses off, or tell them you think them very foolish, and that you don't care, and that what they are saying is all of no consequence?" "I, dear? I couldn't do it to save my life." "Oh, I was sure you couldn't. And he may say what he will, but I am quite sure he would not have been pleased if we had not made ourselves pleasant to his friends." "That's quite true. He has told me himself half a dozen times how delighted he was to see you so popular." "And you too, Katie?" "Oh yes. He was very well pleased with me. But it is you who have turned all the heads in the college, Mary. You are Queen of St. Ambrose beyond a doubt just now." "No, no, Katie; not more than you at any rate." "I say yes, yes, Mary. You will always be ten times as popular as I; some people have the gift of it; I wish I had. But why do you look so grave again?" "Why, Katie, don't you see you are just saying over again, only in a different way, what your provoking cousin--I shall call him Mr. Brown, I think, in future--was telling me for my good in St. John's gardens. You saw how long we were away from you; well, he was lecturing me all the time, only think; and now you are going to tell it me all over again. But go on, dear; I sha'n't mind anything from you." She put her arm round her cousin's waist, and looked up playfully into her face. Miss Winter saw at once that no great harm, perhaps some good, had been done in the passage of arms between her relatives. "You made it all up," she said, smiling, "before we found you." "Only just, though. He begged my pardon just at last, almost in a whisper, when you were quite close to us." "And you granted it?" "Yes, of course; but I don't know that I shall not recall it." "I was sure you would be falling out before long, you got on so fast. But he isn't quite so easy to turn round your finger as you thought, Mary." "Oh, I don't know that," said Mary, laughing; "you saw how humble he looked at last, and what good order he was in." "Well, dear, it's time to think whether we shall go out again." "Let me see; there's the last ball. What do you say?" "Why, I'm afraid poor papa is too tired to take us, and I don't know with whom we could go. We ought to begin packing, too I think." "Very well. Let us have tea quietly at home." "I will write a note to Tom to tell him. He has done his best for us, poor fellow, and we ought to consider him a little." "Oh yes, and ask him and his friend Mr. Hardy to tea, as it is the last night." "If you wish it, I shall be very glad; they will amuse papa." "Certainly, and then he will see that I bear him no malice. And now I will go and just do my hair."