But she asked no questions. She seemed to have drifted away from him on a secret journey of her own. He had to draw her back—make her realize——
"I shall be a doctor then," he said challengingly.
"You said you would be a doctor. We quarrelled about it."
"How you remember things——"
"You were such a strange little boy. Besides, you remember them too."
"That's different. I've never had anyone else——" He caught himself up. "I suppose you think I'm still bragging?"
"You never bragged. You always did what you said you were going to do—even stupid things, like climbing that old wall."
So she had seen him, after all. She had watched—perhaps a little frightened for him, a little impressed by his reckless daring.
"Oh, well, I admit it didn't seem likely. People think you have to have a lot of money. We've often laughed about it. For we hadn't anything except what we saved from week to week. And yet we've done it. You can do anything so long as you don't mind what you do. It depends on the stuff you're made of."
He threw his head up and walked freely, with open shoulders. After all, he was proud of those years, and had a right to be. They had tested every inch of him, and it would have been stupid to pretend that he did not know his own mettle. He heard his footsteps ring out through the fitful whimpering of the wind and they seemed to mark the rhythm of his life—a steady, resolute progression. The lighter fall of Francey Wilmot's feet beside him was like an echo. But yet it had its own quality. Not less resolute.