A burning blush scorched the face of the ferryman.  This was speedy judgment indeed.  But his courage rose to the emergency.  He met the blue eyes steadily with his dark-brown ones as he said, “I told you no untruths, Miss May.  My boat was, literally speaking, in the place of that which the old man actually keeps here:  I knew it must be, because there was only one stake.  I have been cheated, frequently and egregiously:  few men of my age, I imagine, have not.  And I have great faith in physiognomy.  You were my first fare; and I meant to accept the ten cents,—­I assure you I did.  If you can think of any of the other ‘things,’ I shall be happy to explain them.”

“It’s all sophistry,” she began, with something very like a pout.

But the professor gently interrupted her:  “Let us not judge a kind action harshly.  Mr. Symington meant only to relieve you from an annoying dilemma, and he naturally concluded that this would be impossible should he disclose his real name and position.  It seems that he merely allowed your inferences to go uncontradicted, and was, practically, most kind.  An introduction between you is now scarcely necessary; but I am glad that you have met.  But for the fact that a selection would have looked invidious, I should have asked you ere this to permit me to bring Mr. Symington to see you.”

“And will you—­may I?” asked the culprit eagerly, glancing from one to the other.

“That must be as Miss May says,” replied the professor, with a kind smile.

And Rosamond, ashamed of her unwonted outburst, gave Mr. Louis Symington her hand, saying penitently, “I was very rude just now, and unjust besides:  will you forgive me and come with the professor to see me?”

“With pleasure,—­with the greatest pleasure,” he answered eagerly.  “And you will let me row you across?  You will not make me miserable by refusing?”

Rosamond glanced at the professor.

“To be sure we will,” he said cheerfully.  “I shall be glad of the opportunity for a little conversation with you while Miss May is executing her errand.”

So he rowed them across; and then, while Rosamond discussed plaits and gores with the new dress-maker, he discoursed his best eloquence and learning to the professor, with such good effect that the latter said to Rosamond, as they walked home through the twilight, having been persuaded to extend the row a little, “I am glad, dear, that this opportunity of presenting young Symington to you without apparent favoritism has arisen.  He is a most promising young man, but a little inclined, I fear, from what I hear of him in his social capacity, to be frivolous.  We may together exercise a restraining influence over him.”

“I thought he talked most dreadfully sensibly,” said Rosamond, laughing; “but I like him, and I hope we shall see him often.”

They did.  He called at first with the professor, afterward, at odd times,—­never in the evening,—­without him.  He persuaded Rosamond to continue her patronage of his boat.  Sometimes the professor went, sometimes he did not.  Mr. Symington was frequently induced to sing when they were upon the water, and once or twice Rosamond joined her voice to his.