assent to his proposition, but responded with another. They were

soon comparing their journeys, and Helen and Fanny were cruelly

overlooked in the conversation. It was to be the same journey,

they found; one day for the galleries at Florence--"from what I

hear," said the young man, "it is barely enough,"--and the rest

at Rome. He talked of Rome very pleasantly; he was evidently quite

well read, and he quoted Horace about Soracte. Miss Winchelsea had

"done" that book of Horace for her matriculation, and was delighted

to cap his quotation. It gave a sort of tone to things, this

incident--a touch of refinement to mere chatting. Fanny expressed

a few emotions, and Helen interpolated a few sensible remarks, but

the bulk of the talk on the girls' side naturally fell to Miss

Winchelsea.



Before they reached Rome this young man was tacitly of their party.

They did not know his name nor what he was, but it seemed he taught,

and Miss Winchelsea had a shrewd idea he was an extension lecturer.

At any rate he was something of that sort, something gentlemanly

and refined without being opulent and impossible. She tried once

or twice to ascertain whether he came from Oxford or Cambridge,

but he missed her timid importunities. She tried to get him to make

remarks about those places to see if he would say "come up" to them

instead of "go down"--she knew that was how you told a 'Varsity man.

He used the word "'Varsity"--not university--in quite the proper way.



They saw as much of Mr. Ruskin's Florence as the brief time permitted;

he met them in the Pitti Gallery and went round with them, chatting

brightly, and evidently very grateful for their recognition. He knew

a great deal about art, and all four enjoyed the morning immensely.

It was fine to go round recognising old favourites and finding

new beauties, especially while so many people fumbled helplessly

with Baedeker. Nor was he a bit of a prig, Miss Winchelsea said,

and indeed she detested prigs. He had a distinct undertone of humour,

and was funny, for example, without being vulgar, at the expense of

the quaint work of Beato Angelico. He had a grave seriousness beneath

it all, and was quick to seize the moral lessons of the pictures.

Fanny went softly among these masterpieces; she admitted "she knew

so little about them," and she confessed that to her they were "all

beautiful." Fanny's "beautiful" inclined to be a little monotonous,

Miss Winchelsea thought. She had been quite glad when the last

sunny Alp had vanished, because of the staccato of Fanny's admiration.

Helen said little, but Miss Winchelsea had found her a little wanting

on the aesthetic side in the old days and was not surprised; sometimes

she laughed at the young man's hesitating delicate little jests and

sometimes she didn't, and sometimes she seemed quite lost to the art

about them in the contemplation of the dresses of the other visitors.



At Rome the young man was with them intermittently. A rather

"touristy" friend of his took him away at times. He complained

comically to Miss Winchelsea. "I have only two short weeks in Rome,"



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