“Some people can,” said Michael darkly. “There’s rather a good place to sit over there,” he added, pointing to a broken gate that marked the entrance to an oak wood, and he faintly touched the sleeve of Kathleen’s blouse to guide her towards the chosen spot. Then they sat leaning against the gate, she idly plucking sun-faded primroses, he brooding upon the nearness of her hand. In such universal placidity it could not be wrong to hold that hand wasting itself amid small energies. Without looking into her eyes, without turning his gaze from the great tranquil water before him, Michael took her hand in his so lightly that save for the pulsing of his heart he scarcely knew he held it. So he sat breathless, enduring pins and needles, tolerating the uncertain pilgrimage of ants rather than move an inch and break the yielding spell which made her his. “Are you holding my hand?” she asked, after they had sat a long while pensively. “I suppose I am,” said Michael. Then he turned and with full-blooded cheeks and swimming eyes met unabashed Kathleen’s demure and faintly mocking glance. “Do you think you ought to?” she enquired. “I haven’t thought anything about that,” said Michael. “I simply thought I wanted to.” “You’re rather old for your age,” she went on, with an inflection of teazing surprize in her soft voice. “How old are you?” “Seventeen,” said Michael simply. “Goodness!” cried Kathleen, withdrawing her hand suddenly. “And I wonder how old you think I am?” “I suppose you’re about twenty-five.” Kathleen got up and said in a brisk voice that destroyed all Michael’s bravery, “Come, let’s be getting back. Norah will be thinking I’m lost.” Just when they were nearing the outskirts of Branksome, Kathleen dismounted suddenly and said: “I suppose you’ll be surprized when I tell you I’m engaged to be married?” “Are you?” faltered Michael; and the road swam before him. “At least I’m only engaged secretly, because my fiancé is poor. He’s coming down soon. I’d like you to meet him.” “I should like to meet him very much,” said Michael politely. “You won’t tell anybody what I’ve told you?” “Good Lord, no. Perhaps I might be of some use,” said Michael. “You know, in arranging meetings.” “Eh, you’re a nice boy,” exclaimed Kathleen suddenly. And Michael was not perfectly sure whether he thought himself a hero or a martyr.