Listening intently, she heard no sound from within. The few students she had met on the hillside were the only ones she had seen, and she guessed that the majority were still detained by their recitations. At the end of the hour, he would doubtless return from a class. There was time for her to recall what she wished to say and how she would begin. Reassured by this reflection, she was about to enter, when the door on the other side of the hall opened, and she turned to see Cardington's tall figure against the light from within. "I was listening for your step, Miss Felicity," he said, "having observed your approach from my corner window, but you came as quietly as a snowflake. This is an unexpected honour. It's a long time since I have had the pleasure of a call from you; in fact, not since those days of blessed memory when you were a little girl, and used to run up to take a look at my pictures. But come in. Perhaps I can make you a cup of afternoon tea." She followed him into the room, and said nothing until he had closed the door behind her. Then she flung back her hood with a sweep of her hand and met his gaze steadily. "You know I did n't come to see you, don't you?" she demanded with quiet defiance. "Far be it from me," he temporised, "to assume accurate knowledge of anything as doubtful as the direction a charming young woman's favour may take; but I thought it possible--I thought it possible--for old sake's sake." The repetition of the reminder touched her, in spite of her preoccupation, and she glanced about the once familiar room with a wistful kindling of the eyes. "I used to come up here often, did n't I?" she mused. "And father knew where to find me when he had finished his smoke and talk with the boys. There 's the same old picture of the Alhambra you used to tell me stories about." Her defiance was gone now, though her purpose still held. "But I did n't come to see you this time; I shall--soon. I came to see some one else." "My dear child," he said, fixing her with a gaze of deep concern, "I am old enough to be your father, am I not?" She nodded silently, waiting for the lecture she felt she so well deserved. Yet it was characteristic of their relationship that she experienced no serious apprehension; she was too well aware of his understanding and indulgence for that. "But still," he continued, "I lack a few years of reaching the imposing longevity of Methuselah." She put out her hands in impulsive protest against this reference to their difference in age, understanding the pain that underlay his effort at jocularity. He took and retained them in his own, and his colour deepened.