When she came in and saw, as I suppose, my woebegone face, I read hope in her manner.
"I got your note, Jones," said she.
"Oh! I say, Miss Steele, I'm really frightfully sorry.

I know it was a caddish thing to do, especially when you had been so kind.

Look here, I did all those sums myself, without help; and here's another batch I've done since; and--and--" (here I resolved to play a trump card) "and I got this black eye sticking up for you." That settled it.

She smiled once more and said, "Well, Jones, I'll say no more about it this once.

I had made up my mind it was no use our going on together; but I'll try, if you will." "Try--I'll kill myself working," said I, "to make up." "That wouldn't do much good," said she; "but I'll try to forget all this ever happened, and we'll go on just where we left off." "That was page 72," said I eagerly; "and, I say, Miss Steele, you remember my telling you about Tempest, and Dicky Brown, you know; well--" "Is that on page 72, or is it something which we can talk about when work is done ?" So I got my chance once again, and this time I stuck to it.
The nearer the time came, the more desperately we worked.