She laughed, and waved him towards the door. "Tell him," she said. Alexander crossed the yard and leaned his arms on the garden wall. His father was on his knees before a box of seedlings. His face with the heavy moustache drooping over the weakness of his bearded chin was alight with eagerness, his fingers were delicate amid the tender green, the sun struck on the thinness of his hair. Alexander felt a new pity for him. "I've got some news for you," he said, with timid geniality. "Eh?" A frown appeared. "Don't worry me. I'm transplanting." "I know. They look healthy. Tea's ready, and I've got yon scholarship." James Rutherford stood up to his full length. He rubbed his soiled hands together, put them in his pockets, and drew near to the wall, until his face was close to Alexander's. "So you've got the scholarship," he said slowly. "Well, I'll not be sorry to be rid of you, my lad, but I'm damned proud of you." He stared at him as though he saw a stranger. "Damned proud," he repeated. * * * * * It was as he went to bed that Alexander remembered the supposed genius of Theresa. He had seen no signs of it. Only the ardour of her personality was clear to him in the picture. Could that be a kind of genius? He hoped not. He did not want to admit her to the clan of which he hoped he was a member. He could not imagine himself mediocre, he must be something in excess, and like claims from this little girl who had charmed him all the evening, would inexplicably annoy him. He admired women; but he liked them to be great in character rather than in intellect, and something in him refused to believe in the rareness of Theresa's mental qualities. But he liked her and, a few weeks later, he pleased Edward Webb by saying so. "Ah, I thought you would. She's vivid, isn't she? One misses her colouring in the photograph, but she speaks, I think." Alexander turned aside the threatened monologue. "I'm much obliged to you for letting me see the verses." "You had them? You did not mention them. I thought perhaps--foolish of me, no doubt, but all one makes is dear to one--I had hoped for criticism: you want to spare me, but I am not afraid." Alexander was embarrassed. "I can't criticize you. What do I know about it?" "You could help me. I have no one else. And I trust your judgment. As a favour----" "Well, then, I'll ask one of you. Will you come often while I'm away, and let me know how things are going? And just tell me how the hills are looking, will you?" * * * * *