This was to prevent me from exaggerating the merit of my achievement, but I did not care, for in my own mind my performance was somewhat stale already, and I did not give a fig for such distinctions. It occurred to me, as I watched them and listened to them, that Owen and my father were perhaps more alike, mentally and spiritually, than Owen and I, though my father had but a fraction of Owen’s fineness, and none of his generosity. They were related as a coarse weed and a delicate flower might be, but I was of a different genus. And then I thought that, though I cared little for Gerald, and loved Owen, perhaps it was Gerald with whom I had really most in common. CHAPTER XLIII Owen and I were standing by the low sea-wall, looking out across the wet brown sands, when I saw her. It was a gray, cloudy day, and the air was full of mist and damp, which hung in heavy, livid-coloured veils over the black mountain-tops, and sometimes dropped half way down the slopes. The tide was out and the noise of the waves sounded remote and musical. The broad stretch of wet sand and shingle reached out to the cold, gray-green sea, with its white curling line of foam; and at the water’s edge, a little bent forward, her light dress floating out behind her in the fresh wind, one hand raised, holding the brim of her big black hat, she moved along, a solitary figure against the broad line of sea and sky. It was Katherine, and as I watched her it struck me that the whole picture, from her presence in it, became curiously like a Whistler water-colour. The next thing I noticed was that Katherine was quite grown-up, which had the effect of producing in me a sudden shyness, so that I made no attempt to go to meet her. Yet here was the meeting I had lain awake half the night imagining! I had an almost overpowering impulse to turn tail and slink away, and perhaps I might have done so had I been alone. Owen, who took no more interest in girls than in octogenarians, asked me what I was staring at. “At Miss Dale,” I answered. “Who’s Miss Dale?” “Katherine.” “And who is Katherine?” “Mrs. Carroll’s niece.” Then Owen looked at me in surprise. “Aren’t you going to speak to her? I thought you knew her very well?” “So I do.” We clambered over the wall and crossed the beach to intercept her path. My idiotic nervousness was increased by Owen’s presence. She had noticed our approach now, and altered her own course to meet us. As she came up she smiled with her bright frank smile and held out her hand. She was perfectly natural and easy in her greeting, while I began to stammer and splutter. I managed to introduce Owen, saying he had come down yesterday, and we all three walked on together. “I wondered if I should see you,” she said. “We arrived this morning. Gerald is up at the house, but I had to come out and get some fresh air after our travels.” “There’s p――plenty of it at all events,” I stuttered.