been addressing her in particular. Sidwell's blue eyes imitated the
movement of her mother's, with a look of profound gravity which
showed that she had wholly forgotten herself in reverential
listening; only when five minutes' strict attention induced a sense
of weariness did she allow a glance to stray first along the
professorial rank, then towards the place where the golden head of
young Chilvers was easily distinguishable.

Nothing could be more satisfactory than the annual report summarised
by Principal Nares, whose mellifluous voice and daintily pedantic
utterance fell upon expectant hearing with the impressiveness of
personal compliment. So delivered, statistics partook of the grace
of culture; details of academic organisation acquired something more
than secular significance. In this the ninth year of its existence,
Whitelaw College was flourishing in every possible way. Private
beneficence had endowed it with new scholarships and exhibitions;
the scheme of lectures had been extended; the number of its students
steadily increased, and their successes in the field of examination
had been noteworthy beyond precedent. Truly, the heart of their
founder, to whom honour had this day been rendered, must have
gladdened if he could but have listened to the story of dignified
progress! Applause, loud and long, greeted the close of the address.
Buckland Warricombe was probably the only collegian who disdained to
manifest approval in any way.

'Why don't you clap?' asked his sister, who, girl-like, was excited
to warmth of cheek and brightness of eye by the enthusiasm about
her.

'That kind of thing is out of date,' replied the young man,