Following his gaze she saw the figure of a man crossing the field in their direction. She frowned slightly, saying: “You know your people won’t like it, Mr. Hayward.” Then hurriedly—“I don’t want to have to speak to Mr. Symington—if that’s he coming.” “Then I’ll stay with you, Kitty, for it’s certainly Symington. Ah, he’s turning back. One would almost think he had heard you.” “He couldn’t possibly hear me at that distance, unless in his mind,” she said. “And you had better not call me ‘Kitty,’ Mr. Hayward,” she added. It was more an appeal than a command. He made no reply, and they walked a little way in silence. He was first to speak. “So you still go down to watch the London mail run through.” “Yes. I don’t miss many evenings, but then, you know, it’s the one sensation of this place—to me, at any rate.” “The first time I ever saw you was at the fence there—five years ago, it must have been. Your hair was in a pigtail and—” “I was sixteen then, and now I’m—about sixty.” She laughed rather drearily. “And the last time I saw you, three months ago, you were there—” “And no doubt if you come back in a hundred years, Mr. Hayward, you’ll find me there again!” “I was glad to see you there to-night, Kitty—please don’t forbid me to be friendly. I’m feeling particularly friendless at present. Indeed, I think you might be kinder than call me ‘Mr. Hayward.’ What’s wrong with ‘Colin’?” She ignored the question, but said kindly enough—“If you are in trouble, I’m sorry, and I hope it’s not serious.” “I’ve failed in my final—for the second time.” “Oh, Colin!” she exclaimed, sympathy putting an end to formality. “Thanks, Kitty. That’s the most comforting thing I’ve heard since I came home.” “Surely they weren’t hard on you.” Kitty’s social position was several steps down from that of Colin’s people, but behind her words lurked the suspicion, not based entirely on fancy, that the Haywards might have been very hard indeed on the youngest son and brother. “Oh, I daresay I deserved the dressing-down I got,” he returned. “You see my parents, brothers, and sisters take my failure as a sort of public affront. My brothers have been brilliant, and because two of them became a minister and a lawyer without any apparent trouble, my father can’t see why I have not become a doctor with equal ease and speed.” “But you never wanted to be a doctor.” “That is not the point, Kitty. I was expected to become one. Well, I’ve struggled through four professionals, but Providence—I’ve no doubt about its being Providence—says I’ve gone far enough for humanity’s sake.” “Do you mean that you are not going to try again?” she asked after a moment. “Exactly! And that has added to the trouble at home. I’m twenty-five, and I told them that I could not go on wasting more years at a thing I was plainly not adapted for. They insisted that I should go on, and I respectfully but firmly refused.” He paused. “Well, Colin?”—anxiously.