"Yes, you were very careless." But as she spoke she knew why he had chosen the dangerous and longer way. She, too, had rejoiced in the great blue wall that barred the kitchen passage, but rather than explain her understanding, she endured the cool distance of the stare that told her plainly she was alien and unwelcome. But, as she looked at him, returning his gaze with one of frank, unguarded interest, she decided that she did not mind his rudeness, that, indeed, she rather liked the unconsciousness of it, and, without warning, she laughed aloud, and checked against her sides the friendly impulse of her hands. He condescended to smile, too, under his drawn brows. "Well--good-bye," she said. "Good-bye." Neither moved: each looked over the other's shoulder; Theresa, upwards at the swell of green hills against the sky, and Alexander down at the quiet valley and his home, with Abraham sitting before the kitchen door. "Where are the others?" "All gone for walks." "Don't you walk?" She saw the red sparks in his eyes, and his face mobile for the next emotion. This one was a gently disguised scorn, and again she was unmoved. "I'd rather run." "If you're alone, won't you come back to Janet's?" "No, thank you." "She would like to see you." "And I should like to see her. I've known about her for so long; but--it's good to be alone, isn't it? This is the first day I've ever had like this. I'm greedy of it. But if I could just go and speak to her and come back again, that would be best of all." "You can do what you like at Janet's," he said. "I'm staying there." To that she made no answer, but her mind was busy, adding this last statement to Janet's refusal to see visitors. She smiled, and through her thought there ran a pleasant sense of liking for Alexander's company. His face was almost what she had expected, but his effect on her was not. She had forgotten her old enmity and all the lurking, half-seen fears that caused it, and she walked easily by his side and knew no embarrassment at their silence. "We've got photographs of you in our kitchen," he said suddenly; "but how did you know me?" "Well, I guessed. No I didn't!" She stood still to think. "Oh--I knew." "You're like your pictures." "You see," she was explaining her recognition of him--"I've heard about you since I was ten years old. Did Father ever tell you about me?" He gave a shout of laughter. "Oh!" she said, "was it as bad as that? No wonder you wouldn't stay in the house with us." His face became grave. "I had work to do." She looked at him with a like solemnity, showing him a face which might have been reverential but for the dancing light in the eyes, and for the lips, held back as in a leash. He lifted his head with a jerk, and stared before him until they were at the crest of the slope, and Theresa paused to see the valley.