Errington is, if you like! If it hadn't been for him, I should never have learned anything at Oxford at all.

He used to leap over a difficulty while I was looking at it.

Phil, don't interrupt me,--you know you did! I tell you he's up to everything: Greek, Latin, and all the rest of it,--and, what's more, he writes well,--I believe,--though he'll never forgive me for mentioning it,--that he has even published some poems." "Be quiet, George!" exclaimed Errington, with a vexed laugh.

"You are boring Miss Gueldmar to death!" "What is _boring_ ?" asked Thelma gently, and then turning her eyes full on the young Baronet, she added, "I like to hear that you will pass your days sometimes without shooting the birds and killing the fish; it can hurt nobody for you to write." And she smiled that dreamy pensive smile, of hers that was so infinitely bewitching.

"You must show me all your sweet poems!" Errington colored hotly.