"And you are not afraid of the rigours of country life?" aunt said.
"Oh, no; I was brought up in the country, and I love it!" he answered heartily.
Then aunt took him upstairs to his room, and I was left alone with Jack, who looked rather out of humour.
"How different from the dry-as-dust old professor we expected!" I said to him. "He looks quite young."
"He says he is thirty-two," replied Jack. "I don't call that exactly juvenile."
"It may not seem so to eighteen," I responded loftily.
"I shall be nineteen in July," said Jack hastily, "and you are only a few months older, so there, Nan."
"I am aware of the fact," I said calmly, "and I consider myself quite old enough. We were not discussing my age but Professor Faulkner's."
"He does not like to be called Professor Faulkner," said Jack. "He told me so."
"Did he?" I said. "That is rather sensible of him. He seems very nice."