“Pooh, Ken, there are no benefits between friends; only let us not be silent and distant friends any longer. Power is coming into my study to tea to-night; won’t you join us as in old days?”
“I will, Walter; but can the ghost of old days be called to life?”
“Perhaps not; but the young present, which is no ghost, shall replace the old past, Ken. At six o’clock, mind. Good-bye.”
“Don’t go yet: do stay a little. It is a greater pleasure than I can tell you to see you here again, Walter. I want to have a talk with you.”
“To make up for two years’ arrears, eh, Ken? Why, what a pretty little study you’ve got! Isn’t it odd that I should never have been in it before? It seems quite natural to me to be here, somehow. You must come and see mine this evening; I flatter myself it equals even Power’s, and beats Flip’s in beauty, and looks out on the sea: such a jolly view. But you mustn’t see it till this evening. I shall make Charlie put it to rights in honour of your visit. Charlie beats any fag for neatness; why did you turn him off, eh? I’ve made him my fag now, to keep his hand in.”
“Let him come back to me now, Walter; I’m sadder and wiser since those days.”
“That I will, gladly. I know, too, that he’ll be delighted to come. Ah, Wilton’s photograph, I see,” said Walter, still looking about him, “I thought him greatly improved before he left.”
Kenrick was pleased to see that Walter had no suspicion why he left, so that the secret had been kept. They talked on very, very pleasantly, for they had much to say to each other, and Walter had, by his simple, easy manner, completely broken the ice, and made Kenrick feel at home with him again. Kenrick was quite loth to let him go, and kept detaining him so eagerly that more than half an hour, which seemed like ten minutes, had slipped away before he left. Kenrick looked forward eagerly to meet him again in the evening, with Power, and Henderson, and Eden; their meeting would fitly inaugurate his return to the better feelings of past days; but it was not destined that the meeting should take place; nor was it till many evenings afterwards that Kenrick sat once more in the pleasant society of his old friends.
When Walter had at last made good his escape, playfully refusing to be imprisoned any longer, Kenrick rose and paced the room. He could hardly believe his own happiness; it was the most delightful moment he had experienced for many a long day; the scholarship, so long the object of his hope and ambition, was now attained; impossible as it had seemed, it was actually his, and, at the same moment, the truest friend of his boyhood—the friend for whose returning respect and affection he so long had yearned—was at last restored to him.
With an overflowing heart he sat down to write to his mother, and communicate the good news that he was reconciled to Walter, and that Power and Walter had resigned the scholarship in his favour. He had never felt in happier spirits than just then; and then, even at the same moment, the cup of sincere and innocent joy, so long untasted, was, with one blow, dashed away from his lip.