The Boy had risen, and stood before her. "You always do the right thing," he said, "and never, under any circumstances, could there be anything for me to forgive you. I have been an egregious young ass. I have taken things for granted, all along the line. What must you think of me! Why should you care? _You_, with your intellectual attainments, your honours, your high standing in the world of books? _Why_ should you care, Christobel? Why _should_ you care?" He stood before her, straight and tall and desperately implacable. The exuberant youth had died out of his face. For the first time, she could not see in him her Little Boy Blue. "Why should you care?" he said again. She rose and faced him. "But I _do_ care, Boy," she said. "How dare you pretend to think I don't? I care very tenderly and deeply." "Pooh!" said the Boy. "Do you suppose I wished you to marry a bare-toed baby, with sand on its nose?" He laughed wildly; paused and looked at her, then laughed again. "A silly little ass that said it didn't like girls? Oh, I say! I think it's about time I was off. Will you walk down to the gate? ... Thanks. You are always most awfully good to me. I say, Miss Charteris, may I ask the Professor's name?" "Harvey," she said, quietly. "Kenrick Harvey." The dull anguish at her heart seemed almost more than she could bear. Yet what could she say or do? He was merely accepting her own decision. "Harvey?" he said. "Why of course I know him. He's not much to look at, is he? But we always thought him an awfully good sort, and kind as they make 'em. We considered him a confirmed bachelor; but--well, we didn't know he was waiting." They had reached the postern gate. Oh, would he see the growing pain in her eyes? What was she losing? What had she lost? Why did her whole life seem passing out through that green gate? "Good-bye," he said, "and please forget all the rot I talked about Jericho. It goes with the spade and bucket, and all the rest. You have been most awfully kind to me, all along. But the very kindest thing you can do now, is to forget all the impossible things I thought and said... Allow me.... I'll shut the door." He put up his hand, to lift his cap; but he was bareheaded. He laughed again; turned, and passed out. "Boy! Boy! Come back," said Christobel. But the door had closed on the first word. She stood alone. This time she did not wait. Where was the good of waiting? She turned and walked slowly up the lawn, pausing to look at the flowers in the border. The yellow roses still looked golden. The jolly little "what-d'-you-call-'ems" lifted pale purple faces to the sky. But the Boy was gone. She reached her chair, where he had placed it, deep in the shade of the mulberry-tree. She felt tired; worn-out; old. The Boy was gone.