He fumbled for words. "It's ... it's awfully nice to see you again," he said. "It's nice to see you all again," she replied. "You're ... you're so different," he went on. "Am I?" She paused a moment, and then, smiling at him, said, "So are you." "Am I very different?" he asked. "In some ways. You're quite famous now, aren't you?" "Famous?" he said vaguely. "Yes. Your novels...." He laughed. "Oh, dear no, not anything like famous!" "Well-known, then." "Moderately well-known. That's all. But what's the point?" "Well, that's the point," she replied. "You were only 'Quinny' before, but now you're the moderately well-known novelist, and I'm afraid of you...." "Don't be absurd, Mary!" "But I am, Quinny. I read a review of one of your books in some paper, and it called you a very wise person, and said you knew a great deal about human nature or something of that sort. Well, one feels rather awful in the presence of a person like that. At least, I do!" He felt that she was chaffing him, and he did not want to be chaffed by her. He liked the "Quinny" and "Mary" attitude, and he wished that she would forget that he had written "wise" books. "You're making fun of me," he said. "Oh, no, I'm not," she answered quickly. "I'm quite serious!" He did not answer for a few moments. He could hear Rachel's passionate voice saying, "They get seven shillings a week ... in theory. There are fines ..." and he wondered why it was that she repelled him. Her sincerity was palpable ... it was clear that she was hurt by the miseries of factory girls ... but in spite of her sincerity, he felt that he could not bear to be near her. "If she'd only talk of something else," he thought ... and then returned to Mary. "Do you remember that time at Boveyhayne?" he said. "Which time?" she asked. "The first time." "Yes." He swallowed and then went on. "Do you remember what I said to you ... on the platform at Whitcombe?" She spoke more quickly and loudly as she answered him. "Oh, yes," she said, "we got engaged, didn't we? We _were_ kids!..." Mrs. Graham caught the word "engaged." "Who's engaged?" she asked. "No one, mother," Mary answered. "Quinny and I were talking about the time when we were engaged!..." He felt a frightful fool. What on earth had possessed her that she should treat the matter in this fashion? "Were you engaged, dear?" Mrs. Graham said. "Oh, yes, mother. Don't you remember? Of course, we were kids then!..." Why did she insist on the fact that they were "kids" then? "I remember it," Ninian interjected. "Old Quinny was frightfully sloppy over it. Oh, I say, I met Tom Arthurs to-day. He's going to Southampton to-morrow. The _Gigantic's_ starting on her maiden trip, and he's going over with her. I wish to goodness I could go too!" "Why don't you?" Mrs. Graham said. It seemed to her too that if Ninian wished to do anything that was sufficient reason why he should be allowed to do it.