‘And last night――I don’t know why――it was just the same. Everything happened as in the old days.... It is rather strange, for of late it had all grown a little dim and far away――faint, unreal even, when I tried to bring it back.... And I remember he took me to the edge of a pool, and when I looked into the water I saw reflected there my own room――a boy lying asleep in the bed――myself――――’ He paused, smiling faintly, his whole face filled with the light of his memory. Brocklehurst watched him curiously. ‘Sometimes,’ he went on, ‘sometimes the wind, when it is not too loud, seems to bring back the sound of his voice ... and his voice is just like yours, Harold.... Once, at school, I remember, I was sitting before the fire, half asleep and half awake, when suddenly he seemed to come very close to me, to be in the room, to be leaning over the back of my chair. Then I shut my eyes and I felt his soft hair brush against my cheek――and I waited――and oh, I felt so happy.... All at once the door opened and you came in.... And you leaned over my chair just as he had done, while you talked to me.’ ‘You are making me feel very jealous,’ said Brocklehurst with pretended seriousness. ‘I expect you like him much better than you like me!’ ‘There is no difference ... except――――’ He stopped short while Brocklehurst began to laugh. ‘Well, what were you going to say?’ Graham coloured a little. ‘Let us change places. You can row back.’ Brocklehurst obeyed him, but he still kept his eyes fixed on Graham’s face. ‘What is the difference?’ he persisted. ‘What were you going to tell me?’ ‘Nothing――nothing,’ Graham answered almost confusedly. ‘It is just in his――his manner.’ ‘That means, I suppose, that he _is_ nicer――after all!’ ‘No, it doesn’t mean anything of the kind.’ ‘Well, it must mean something, you know. And if not that, why are you afraid to tell me?’ ‘I’m not afraid to tell you.... It means just that he likes――me.’ He gazed down through the water. Brocklehurst regarded him a little strangely. For a moment he seemed about to speak, but in the end, without saying anything, he dipped his oars and began to row back. A long silence followed. ‘Where shall we go now?’ Brocklehurst asked gently. The boat was heading for the cliffs, which rose, dark and naked, out of the clear water. ‘There is a place a little to the left where I think we can land if you would care to bathe.’ Brocklehurst brought the boat round to the desired spot, and they scrambled out on to a broad flat shelf of rock where, having made fast the rope, they sat for a while dangling their feet over the edge.