wild, and her young bosom heaving with the thrill of fighting the waves.
Imogene liked Denis because he was nice to her, and, besides, he made her laugh: he was so funny. His ways were so funny, his high manners were so funny, but his shyness attracted her most.
He was shy now because they were alone, and the boy knew that she was watching him; so he made a feint of studying his book of Latin, but Imogene could see that his mind was not on his reading.
"You don't get on very fast, Mr. Denis," she said.
Denis looked up from the book and laughed. "No," he said, "not very, I'm afraid; I'm not very fond of books."
"What are you fond of?" said the girl, leaning across the bar on her bare elbows.
"Oh, what a chance to say 'you'!" thought the young man; but somehow the words wouldn't come, so he stammered instead: "Oh, nothing much. I like horses rather; yes, I like riding."
"Is that all?" said the girl.
"About all," said the boy.
"Mr. Rash, the schoolmaster, tells me that he likes riding," went on the girl mischievously; "he also likes books; he reads very fast, much faster than you do."
"Not Latin books, I'll be bound," said young Denis, starting up scarlet with rage, for he hated the schoolmaster, in whom he saw a possible rival to the girl's
