They spent the evening in writing and copying a number of letters, addressing envelopes and enclosing stamps.  There were optimistic moments.

“Melbourne’s a fine city,” said Lewisham, “and we should have a glorious voyage out.”  He read the application for the Melbourne professorship out loud to her, just to see how it read, and she was greatly impressed by the list of his accomplishments and successes.

“I did not, know you knew half those things,” she said, and became depressed at her relative illiteracy.  It was natural, after such encouragement, to write to the scholastic agents in a tone of assured consequence.

The advertisement for typewriting in the Athenaeum troubled his conscience a little.  After he had copied out his draft with its “Scientific phraseology a speciality,” fine and large, he saw the notes she had written out for him.  Her handwriting was still round and boyish, even as it had appeared in the Whortley avenue, but her punctuation was confined to the erratic comma and the dash, and there was a disposition to spell the imperfectly legible along the line of least resistance.  However, he dismissed that matter with a resolve to read over and correct anything in that way that she might have sent her to do.  It would not be a bad idea, he thought parenthetically, if he himself read up some sound authority on the punctuation of sentences.

They sat at this business quite late, heedless of the examination in botany that came on the morrow.  It was very bright and cosy in their little room with their fire burning, the gas lit and the curtains drawn, and the number of applications they had written made them hopeful.  She was flushed and enthusiastic, now flitting about the room, now coming close to him and leaning over him to see what he had done.  At Lewisham’s request she got him the envelopes from the chest of drawers.  “You are a help to a chap,” said Lewisham, leaning back from the table, “I feel I could do anything for a girl like you—­anything.”

“Really!” she cried, “Really!  Am I really a help?”

Lewisham’s face and gesture, were all assent.  She gave a little cry of delight, stood for a moment, and then by way of practical demonstration of her unflinching helpfulness, hurried round the table towards him with arms extended, “You dear!” she cried.

Lewisham, partially embraced, pushed his chair back with his disengaged arm, so that she might sit on his knee....

Who could doubt that she was a help?

CHAPTER XXV.

THE FIRST BATTLE.