The Cantab made his exit, and Fay busied herself calming the kittens' minds, and restoring the dethroned geraniums. Keane read his Times for ten minutes, then looked up.
"Miss Morton, where is your tongue? I have not heard it for a quarter of an hour, a miracle that has never happened in the two months I have been at the Beeches."
"You do not want to hear it."
"What! am I in mauvais odeur again?" smiled Keane. "I thought we were good friends. Have you found the Q. E. D. to the problem I gave you?"
"To be sure!" cried Fay, exultantly. And kneeling down by him, she went through the whole thing in exceeding triumph.
"You are a good child," said her tutor, smiling, in himself amazed at this volatile little thing's capacity for mathematics. "I think you will be able to take your degree, if you like. Come, do you hate me now, Fay?"
"No," said Fay, a little shyly. "I never hated you, I always admired you; but I was afraid of you, though I would never confess it to Sydie."
"Never be afraid of me," said Keane, putting his hand on hers as it lay on the arm of his chair. "You have no cause. You can do things few girls can; but they are pretty in you, where they might be—not so pretty in others. I like them at the least. You are very fond of your cousin, are you not?"
"Of Sydie? Oh, I love him dearly!"
Keane took his hand away, and rose, as the General trotted in: