“The whole thing,” Owen began, but tailed off abruptly “――it seems rather queer.” We walked on for a long time in silence. I was determined to tell him about Mr. Applin, but it was not till we were coming home that I began my explanation. “And you’re really going to him!” Owen marvelled. “I’ll have to go now. That is, if he does not tell me not to.” “He can hardly do that. You’re not making fun?” “Fun?” Owen was silent. “I didn’t know whether you meant it,” he said. “What are you going _for_?” he suddenly asked. “Just to talk to him?” “Yes, I suppose so.” “But what about?” “About?... Do you remember talking of confession?” “But it’s not that, is it?” said Owen, very seriously. “You’re not――――” “Why not?” I smiled dimly. “But what is the matter? Why should you? What have you done? And if you have done anything, what is it to him?” We had come to a standstill on the lonely river bank. Owen’s eyes were fixed upon me questioningly. I had nothing to say, or, rather, I could not say it. I stood before him, looking on the ground, my hands in my trouser pockets. Owen hesitated. He put his hands on my shoulders, but I did not look up. Presently I raised my head, but I looked away from him, and across the fields. “Come along,” I said, quietly. “It’s getting late, and we must hurry.” * * * * * When I reached home at about half-past nine little Alice came running to meet me. Her white face, her bright black eyes, and long straight black hair, brushed back from her forehead and spreading out on either side of her face in the shape of a fan, were vivid in the gas-light, under which she stood looking up at me while I opened the letter she had brought me. It was from Mr. Applin, asking me to call on Wednesday evening between nine and ten, or on Friday between the same hours, if Wednesday did not suit me. CHAPTER XXXVI Since Christmas I had been working harder than I had ever done in my life. The Intermediate examinations would be coming on in June, but it was not any particular anxiety to shine in them that had goaded me to this unprecedented industry; merely I had discovered that on the plea of work I could sit in my bedroom in the evenings, and that the work itself kept me from thinking of other things. To-night I went straight upstairs as usual, but after writing to Mr. Applin to say I would come on Wednesday, I sat idle. So it was all the next day, and the next night: I had an open book in front of me, but I read without comprehending what I read: I was intensely excited: a kind of emotional cloud had descended upon my mind, and I could think of nothing but my approaching interview.