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 upper lip, the shock of coarse red hair, and the strong lines to the corners of the mouth would have betrayed him, even without the slight touch of the brogue that was more in the inflection of his sentences than in the pronunciation of his words.

Hart had been at first rather annoyed by Patrick's attentions, but his earnestness, and the bond of sympathy that comes from serious determinations, had rather awakened a desire for better acquaintance.

Heaphy's room was a small one not far from Hart's in Edwards Hall. In a rash moment when visited by a sophomoric press gang, Mr. Heaphy had forcibly stated that he had come to college "for a purpose." As he always walked in quick, short steps, as if the purpose was only a few feet in advance and rapidly receding, the sobriquet had stuck to him.

"That was a pretty young lady," said Hart, interrupting Heaphy's opinions on the morning's lecture in chemistry,—"the tall one I mean."

"I don't get on very well with ladies," returned Heaphy. "I never know what to say to them. Do you envy people?"