“It was my grandfather, Professor Kelton, you came to see.  He’s here with me now, but he’s gone out to call on an old friend with Mrs. Owen.”

Every detail of Dan’s visit to the cottage was clear in Sylvia’s mind; callers had been too rare for there to be any dimness of memory as to the visit of the stranger, particularly when she had associated her grandfather’s subsequent depression with his coming.

Dan felt that he should scrupulously avoid touching upon the visit to Montgomery otherwise than casually.  He was still bound in all honor to forget that excursion as far as possible.  This young person seemed very serious, and he was not sure that she was comfortable in his presence.

“It was a warm day, I remember, but cool and pleasant in your library.  I’m going to make a confession.  When you went off so kindly to find Professor Kelton I picked up the book you had been reading, and it quite laid me low.  I had imagined it would be something cheerful and frivolous, to lift the spirit of the jaded traveler.”

“It must have been a good story,” replied Sylvia, guardedly.

“It was!  It was the ‘AEneid,’ and I began at your bookmark and tried to stagger through a page, but it floored me.  You see how frank I am; I ought really to have kept this terrible disclosure from you.”

“Didn’t you like Madison?  I remember that I thought you were comparing us unfavorably with other places.  You implied”—­and Sylvia smiled—­“that you didn’t think Madison a very important college.”

“Then be sure of my contrition now!  Your Virgil sank deep into my consciousness, and I am glad of this chance to render unto Madison the things that are Madison’s.”

His chaffing way reminded her of Dr. Wandless, who often struck a similar note in their encounters.

Sylvia was quite at ease now.  Her caller’s smile encouraged friendliness.  He had dropped his fedora hat on a chair, but clung to his bamboo stick.  His gray sack suit with the trousers neatly creased and his smartly knotted tie proclaimed him a man of fashion:  the newest and youngest member of the Madison faculty, who had introduced spats to the campus, was not more impressively tailored.

“You said you had gone to a large college; and I said—­”

“Oh, you hit me back straight enough!” laughed Harwood.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Sylvia protested, coloring.

They evidently both remembered what had been said at that interview.

“It wasn’t rude; it was quite the retort courteous!  My conceit at being a Yale man was shattered by your shot.”

“Well, I suppose Yale is a good place, too,” said Sylvia, with a generous intention that caused them both to laugh.

“By token of your Virgilian diversions shall I assume that you are a collegian, really or almost?”

“Just almost.  I’m on my way to Wellesley now.”