"By the by, I've some news to tell you. I had a letter from Hilary this morning. The doctors think she had better not come back after all. Say she wants a complete rest from studies for at least a year, if her headaches are to be cured. Rough luck on Hilary, isn't it? She's keen on her work." "Yes. I'm awfully sorry," said Kitty sincerely. "She was clever too, and a good sort." "Oh yes, Hilary was always decent. Though I fancy she didn't quite approve of me. It's rather hard lines on you too, having your study-mate taken away. A pity!" with a mocking note in her voice, and the drawl back again. "But perhaps you can still put up with France and me." "Yes. I'm sorry we took a dislike to each other at the beginning," said Kitty in a low voice. "You did, you mean. I never disliked you." Kitty looked surprised. "Why yes, you did. Besides, don't you remember how I squeezed a sponge over you?" "Oh, that! I thought it was frightful cheek on your part, but then, I've plenty of cheek myself." "And when I challenged you to tennis?" "And beat me? Did I look so furious?" "You never turned a hair. But I thought you were simply wild, inwardly." "Perhaps I was. But I hope I'm sportsman enough not to show it." "Oh, you're a sportsman all right," said Kitty with conviction. "But if you didn't dislike me extremely, how did you feel about me?" "Oh, I rather liked you when I first saw you. I thought you looked a decent sort and a thorough sport, and I said to myself that you'd make a welcome addition to the house. And then I saw that you disliked me for some reason or other--in fact, rather despised me--and so I just didn't care. I was rather sorry, but I wouldn't have let you see it for worlds. Perhaps, too, my pride was hurt." "Yes, I did dislike you and feel rather--contemptuous," confessed Kitty, laughing under her breath. "You see, I'd never met anyone like you before. You were quite a new experience. It began when I first saw your name painted right across your trunk, 'The Hon. Duane l'Estrange Estevan,' and I said to myself, 'What a name!' I had a horror of anything aristocratic and a great contempt for laziness in any form whatever, and I thought you were both. I'm beginning to have my doubts about the laziness, however." "We'll put it down to my 'unfortunate manner,'" conceded Duane generously, "though I won't deny it." "Your manner is all that it should be," declared Kitty firmly, "so don't try to alter it. You couldn't be you without it. I was a silly fool." "Then you really think that we might become quite good friends in time?" Kitty flushed. "I'd be proud," she said in a low voice. "And the Richoter? Have you forgotten that?" Kitty's flush faded. Yes, strange to say, she had forgotten all about it. It had never once entered her head. "Yes, I have. I don't care a hang about the Richoter," she replied sturdily.