“I don’t know that just that idea has struck her!” he laughed, quite cheerful again.  “It’s too bad it can’t be suggested to her.  It might help her with her Latin.  She tells me in our confidences that she thinks Latin a beast.  It’s my role to pacify her.  But a girl must live up to her mother’s ambitions, and Mrs. Bassett is ambitious for her children.  And then there’s always the unencumbered aunt to please into the bargain.  Mrs. Owen is shrewd, wise, kind.  Since that night I saw you there we’ve become pals.  She’s the most stimulating person I ever knew.  She has talked to me about you several times”—­Dan laughed and looked Sylvia in the eyes as though wondering how far to go—­“and if you’re not the greatest living girl you have shamefully fooled Mrs. Owen.  Mr. Ware, the minister, came in one evening when I was there and I never heard such praise as they gave you.  But I approved of it.”

“Oh, how nice of you!” said Sylvia, in a tone so unlike her that Dan laughed outright.

“You are the embodiment of loyalty; but believe me, I am a loyal person myself.  Please don’t think me a gossip.  Marian’s mother still hopes to land her in college next year, but she’s the least studious of beings; I can’t see her doing it.  Mrs. Bassett’s never quite well, and that’s been bad for Marian.  College would be a good thing for her.  I’ve seen many soaring young autocrats reduced to a proper humility at New Haven, and I dare say you girls have your own way of humbling a proud spirit.”

“I don’t believe Marian needs humbling; one can’t help liking her; and she’s ever so good to look at.”

“She’s certainly handsome,” Dan admitted.

“She’s altogether charming,” said Sylvia warmly; “and she’s young—­much younger than I am, for example.”

“How old is young, or how young is old?  I had an idea that you and she were about the same age.”

“You flatter me!  I’m nearly four years older! but I suppose she seems much more grown-up, and she knows a great many things I don’t.”

“I dare say she does!” Dan laughed.  And with this they turned to other matters.

Dan sat facing her, hat in hand, and as the train rushed through the Berkshires Sylvia formed new impressions of him.  She saw him now as a young man of affairs, with errands abroad—­this in itself of significance; and he had to do with politics, a subject that had begun to interest Sylvia.  The cowlick where his hair parted kept a stubborn wisp of brown hair in rebellion, and it shook amusingly when he spoke earnestly or laughed.  His gray eyes were far apart and his nose was indubitably a big one.  He laughed a good deal, by which token one saw that his teeth were white and sound.  Something of the Southwestern drawl had survived his years at New Haven, but when he became earnest his eyes snapped and he spoke with quick, nervous energy, in a deep voice that was a little harsh.  Sylvia had heard a great deal about the brothers and young men friends of her companions at college and was now more attentive to the outward form of man than she had thought of being before.