'Dying for the love of me!' He knew it was an impudent exaggeration, but, somehow, it gave him confidence; 'there is no smoke,' he thought, 'without fire.' And his heart beat high with new hopes, for which he laughed at himself all the while.

It was just the cordial which he needed.

That conversation determined the history of his life.
He met Argemone that morning in the library, as usual; but he soon found that she was not thinking of Homer.

She was moody and abstracted; and he could not help at last saying,-- 'I am afraid I and my classics are de trop this morning, Miss Lavington.' 'Oh, no, no.

Never that.' She turned away her head.