"I shall remember miraculous things you said My whole life through; Things to go unforgotten till I am dead; But the hundredfold, adorable ways of you, The tilt of your chin for laughter, the turn of your head, That I loved, that I knew---- Oh, while I fed on the dreams of them, these have fled! Words which no time can touch are my life's refrain; But each picture flies---- All that was left to hold till I meet you again! Your mouth's deep curve, your brows where the shadow lies, These are the things I strive to capture in vain, And I have forgotten your eyes----" Another blinding mist of tears blotted out the last line, even as just now in the drawing-room tears had blotted out the figure of Little Yeogh Wough's friend sitting at the piano. That night, after midnight, as I sat on the big sofa with the Boy and his friend, I said suddenly: "I didn't know you wrote poems, Roland. Why don't you let me see some of them?" "They're not good enough to show you. I suppose Edward has been telling you I've written them. He oughtn't to have told you." They were sitting one on either side of me. Edward laughed. "Don't mind what he says. I'll send them to you to read," he said to me. Then a demon of anger leapt up in the eyes of Little Yeogh Wough. He looked dangerous as he flung himself across me and defied his friend. "No, you won't send them. I don't mean mother to see them. They're not good enough. They're not to be shown her. You understand?" "Roland!" I exclaimed reproachfully. When his friend had gone to bed he walked fiercely up and down the room in which he was now alone with me. "You can see what I feel, Big Yeogh Wough. I don't want you to see work that I think is bad. And you know that home and you are something quite apart from everything else with me. My best self is always here, but I've had to bring out another self in my school life, or I couldn't have got on in that life at all. And I don't want you to hear about that other self. Any boy that comes here must come on condition that he doesn't tell you." "You ought to be very grateful to this particular boy who is here now, for he has told me of all sorts of goodnesses in you--of your kindness in helping other fellows less clever than yourself--helping them even to compete against you--and of your great sense of justice. You have learnt to rule, and I am glad, for now you will have to put your ability to the test; and I am very proud to know that last Speech Day the Head thanked you for the change for the better that you had worked in your house since you had been an important boy there." He came and sat down on the big couch beside me and leaned his head against mine. "Are you particularly fond of Edward's sister, Roland?"