Senior year started with a whimper. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. Irreton. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure.
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