But the one I minded most of all leaving was little Miss Kathleen. She cried, and so did I, when we said good-bye; and she promised to write long letters to me, and made me promise I'd write to her. The through-train for Bristol left Littleburgh at twelve o'clock, and I got there a good while before, being driven in the little light cart which was often in and out for all sorts of purposes. The man had a lot of things to do, so we started early; and I had to wait a good time at the station—something near three-quarters of an hour, I believe. I had a little book to read which Miss Kathleen had given me; and I sat down on a quiet bench, in a corner, with it open on my knee. All of a sudden a queer sort of feeling came over me; for there on the platform, not far off, was Walter Russell. He had his jaunty air, and kept moving about with a look of being very important. I don't know why, but he didn't seem to me so much of a gentleman as he'd seemed once. He put on such airs; and when he stopped to speak to somebody, he laughed so loud. And yet my heart went pit-a-pat, and I was all in a flutter. I hoped he wouldn't see me; but still I didn't know how to bear being passed over by him. If he did know I was there, he mightn't choose to speak. And that would be the best thing for me. I knew it, yet a longing came into my mind for just a word—only a word! I never could feel sure he had really known me that day I drove by him in the fly. He went to the other end of the platform, and walked back, keeping up his jaunty air. All of a sudden, he stopped opposite, and our eyes met. There was nobody near, except one old market-woman, half asleep, at the other end of the bench. "Hallo! Why, it's Kitty Phrynne!" says he; and his mouth dropped open in a sort of amaze. He didn't look delighted. I could see that plain enough. I did not move, or get up. All at once, clear like a bell, I seemed to hear mother's voice saying her favourite saying— "Least said, soonest mended!" "Least said, soonest mended!" And I sat still, determined I'd not be drawn into any folly. I would show mother I had some self-respect. I had nothing more to do with Walter, nor he with me; and the less we said to each other the better. If I got into a talk, I couldn't depend on myself. "I declare it's—Kitty," says he again. And I kept still. I wouldn't stir. "Come! come! you don't bear malice, I hope," says he, and he came up to shake hands. "Bear malice! What for?" said I slowly. I thought I'd keep strict to the "least said" plan. "What for! Oh, come! that's good," he broke out, with a laugh. He meant about the watch, of course—but I did wonder he could laugh. "I don't see anything to make fun of," I said. "Well, no—nor do I," says he. "Most serious event in a man's life, isn't it?" And he sat down by my side. "Kitty, you're prettier than ever," says he softly.