A Little Queen of Hearts by Ruth Ogden — Read

It is one thing to extend an invitation. It is quite another to have it accepted. Harold realized this with a sigh as he woke the next morning. Still, hope was in the wind, where it had not been for a long time, and, what was more, the first suggestion of spring was in it too, and every one knows what a tonic that is; so the sigh, on the whole, did not have much of a show, and Harold set off for school with a heart that he hardly knew for lightness.

Besides, Ted had taken quite civil leave of him before going back to Oxford, and had said he fancied would be down again next Sunday, and that he would be on hand, like as not, if Uncle Fritz decided to come over -- all of which, for any one who knew Ted as Harold knew him, was graciousness itself, and made Harold wish he had not waited so long before taking matters into his own hands. And in addition to all this, the morning was fine enough to brace anybody up, no matter what their troubles. The Eton boys in their tall hats (atoning, as it were, for the extreme briefness of their jackets) and wide-rolling linen collars were skurrying through the streets as though they had the right of way, as indeed they have in dear old royal Windsor; and here and there the flowing gown of a colleger spread itself to the April wind and floated out behind, to all appearances as glad as any peacock to show what it could do in that direction. Indeed, who knows of a more inspiriting sight anywhere than Eton College on an April morning? The quaint old buildings seem to bask in the broad spring sunshine; the trees that dot the grass-bare turf where the Upper School fronts the street are already casting tiny leaf-shadows, and on the other side, where the garden slopes down to the Thames, many a little branch and bush begins to glow with color.