her have her way about all such matters.  Afraid of her mind, if she is contradicted, I suppose.—­You’ve heard about her going to school at that place,—­the ‘Institoot,’ as those people call it?  They say she’s bright enough in her way,—­has studied at home, you know, with her father a good deal,—­knows some modern languages and Latin, I believe:  at any rate, she would have it so,—­she must go to the ‘Institoot.’  They have a very good female teacher there, I hear; and the new master, that young Mr. Langdon, looks and talks like a well-educated young man.  I wonder what they’ll make of Elsie, between them!”

So they talked at the Judge’s, in the calm, judicial-looking mansion-house, in the grave, still library, with the troops of wan-hued law-books staring blindly out of their titles at them as they talked, like the ghosts of dead attorneys fixed motionless and speechless, each with a thin, golden film over his unwinking eyes.

In the mean time, everything went on quietly enough after Cousin Richard’s return.  A man of sense,—­that is, a man who knows perfectly well that a cool head is worth a dozen warm hearts in carrying the fortress of a woman’s affections, (not yours, “Astarte,” nor yours, “Viola,")—­who knows that men are rejected by women every day because they, the men, love them, and are accepted every day because they do not, and therefore can study the arts of pleasing,—­a man of sense, when he finds he has established his second parallel too soon, retires quietly to his first, and begins working on his covered ways again. [The whole art of love may be read in any Encyclopaedia under the title Fortification, where the terms just used are explained.] After the little adventure of the necklace, Dick retreated at once to his first parallel.  Elsie loved riding,—­and would go off with him on a gallop now and then.  He was a master of all those strange Indian horseback-feats which shame the tricks of the circus-riders, and used to astonish and almost amuse her sometimes by disappearing from his saddle, like a phantom horseman, lying flat against the side of the bounding creature that bore him, as if he were a hunting leopard with his claws in the horse’s flank and flattening himself out against his heaving ribs.  Elsie knew a little Spanish too, which she had learned from the young person who had taught her dancing, and Dick enlarged her vocabulary with a few soft phrases, and would sing her a song sometimes, touching the air upon an ancient-looking guitar they had found with the ghostly things in the garret,—­a quaint old instrument, marked E.M. on the back, and supposed to have belonged to a certain Elizabeth Mascarene, before mentioned in connection with a work of art,—­a fair, dowerless lady, who smiled and sung and faded away, unwedded, a hundred years ago, as dowerless ladies, not a few, are smiling and singing and fading now,—­God grant each of them His love,—­and one human heart as its interpreter!