On the whole, she was glad when school began again; and she grew much happier when she found herself once more engrossed in the term's work, which had now increased very materially, owing to her own efforts as well as to those of Paul. Of him, she only had occasional glimpses during the next few weeks; but they were enough to keep their friendship warm, and she soon found herself scribbling little notes to him, when she had anything to tell,--generally about some small success of hers which she felt obliged to confide to some one, and liked best of all to confide to him. Sometimes he did not answer them; and she sighed, and took the hint to write no more for a time. And sometimes he wrote back one of his ceremonious replies, which she had learnt to welcome as the most characteristic thing he could have sent her; for, in his letters, Paul never lost his formality. It was a very satisfactory friendship on both sides, with enough familiarity to give it warmth, and not enough to make it disquieting. But it received an unexpected check towards the middle of June, through an incident that was slight enough in itself, though sufficient to set both of them thinking. And to stop and think in the course of a friendship, especially when it is between a man and a woman, is generally the forerunner of a misunderstanding. It was the first hot weather that year. May had been disappointingly cold and wet, after the promise of the month before, but June came in with a burst of sunshine that lasted long enough to justify the papers in talking about the drought. On one of the first fine days, Paul was lazily smoking in his arm-chair after a late breakfast, when a knock at his outer door roused him unpleasantly from a reverie that had threatened to become a nap; and he rose slowly to his feet with something like a muttered imprecation. Then he remembered that he had left the door open for the sake of the draught, and he shouted a brief "Come in," and sank back again into his chair. A light step crossed the threshold, and paused close behind him. "Who's there?" asked Paul, without moving. "Well, you _are_ cross. And on a morning like this, too!" Paul got up again, with rather more than his usual show of energy, and turned and stared at his visitor. "Really, Katharine," he said, with a slowly dawning smile of amusement. "Oh, I know all that," exclaimed Katharine, with an impatient gesture. "But the sun was shining, and I had to come, and you'll have to put up with it." Paul looked as though he should have no difficulty in putting up with it; and he went outside, and sported his oak. "Won't you sit down, and tell me why you have come?" he suggested, when he came back again. Katharine dropped into a chair, and laughed. "How can you ask? Why, it is my half-term holiday; and the sun's shining. Look!" "I believe it is, yes," he said, glancing towards the gently flapping blind. "Has that got anything to do with it?"