when he entered she felt at first keenly disappointed. He was only a
very ordinary-looking street boy, she thought, rather undersized, but
still too big for his clothes, which were stretched on him tightly, his
short trousers showing the tops of his patched boots, which were several
sizes too large for him, and gave him a very ungraceful appearance. He
had not even a collar, only an old tartan scarf knotted round his neck,
and from the shrunk sleeves of the old jacket his hands, red and bony,
appeared abnormally large. But when she looked at his face, at the eyes
which looked out from the tangle of his hair, she forgot all the rest,
and her heart warmed to him before he had uttered a word.

'This is Walter Hepburn--my niece, Mary Graham; and you may as well be
friendly, because I can't have any quarrelling here,' was the old man's
introduction; then, without a word of thanksgiving, he fell to eating
his porridge, after having carefully divided the sky-blue milk into
three equal portions.

The two young persons gravely nodded to each other, and also began to
eat. Gladys, feeling intuitively that a kindred soul was near her, felt
a wild desire to laugh, her lips even trembled so that she could
scarcely restrain them, and Walter Hepburn answered by a twinkle in his
eye, which was the first bright thing Gladys had seen in Glasgow. But
though she felt kindly towards him, and glad that he was there, she did
not by any means admire him, and she even thought that if she knew him
better she would tell him of his objectionable points. For one thing, he
had no manners; he sat rather far back from the table, and leaned
forward till his head was almost on a level with his plate. Then he made
a loud noise in his eating, which disturbed Gladys very much--certainly
she was too fastidious and delicate in her taste for her present lot in
life. When that strange and silent meal was over, the old man retired to