IT was a mild and mellow evening. Shadow and silver mingled upon the breathing breast of the Charles, and melted away into the heart of night. A gay and motley party was emerging from a Cambridge villa, in which the mere carnal delights of dinner had been enlivened by a conversation upon love, Greek roots, and philosophy. Mashem was about to conceal himself in his long light ulster, when Miss Digge, in a low tone, which seemed to convey a subtle caress, invited him to stay and read Plato with her in the library.

"See, Mr. Mashem," she said, as she led the way, "this is the room where we used to sit together like brother and sister when you were fitting for college. I was a silly school-girl then, but am I not studious and sober now? I have entered the Annex without conditions."

Miss Digge certainly did look sober, as she stood there in her "old gold" velvet dress, cut bias, and shirred all round, leaning against a bookcase just as she had seen Modjeska lean.

"Here, Mr. Mashem," she said, "is a poem that you wrote for me in those sunny days. Listen!" Mashem looked a little discouraged as she read:

"Canst thou love a lone Sub-Freshman? -

Lone Sub-Freshman, Diggy dear?

He will be a nobby student

Ere the turning of the year.

"And remember, just remember,

He who asks this precious boon,

If he don't get 'bounced' or 'bull-dozed.'

He will be a Senior soon."

"You were only sixteen when you wrote that," she said with pride. "Do you ever write poetry now?"

"Well, I did have a piece in the Advocate, but - "

"Oh, then it must have been good. I like the Advocate; it has such nice love-stories. But, sir, why have you not been to call on me this age?