It is not to be imagined that an incident of this kind could do aught but sink deep into the mind of any young man, and especially into the mind of a young man who had particular reasons for wanting to know how this young lady was affected towards him. She herself had made light of the matter; it had been merely a sudden impulse, born of her own abundant good-nature; probably she would have done as much for Percy Lestrange. But _would_ she have done as much for Percy Lestrange? Lionel kept asking himself. He was vain enough to think she would not. Who had been her _protege_ all this time? To whom had she given unobtrusive little hints when she thought these might be useful? In whose exploits and triumphs and failures had she shown an exceptional interest and sympathy? Whom had she permitted to go fishing with her on those long days when the world seemed to belong to the two of them? Whom had she admitted into the little dell above the Geinig Pool which was her chosen and solitary retreat? And he could not but reflect that while there were plenty of women who were eager to present him with silver cigarette-cases, blue and white flower-jars, and things of that kind, there was not one of them, as he believed, who would dip her little finger in a bottle of ink for his sake. More than that, which of them would herself have dared ridicule in order to save him from ridicule? And in what light should he regard this suddenly prompted action on her part, which seemed to him so bewildering at the time, but which she appeared to look on as only a sort of half-humorous freak of friendship?