“Yes. I don’t miss many evenings, but then, you know, it’s the one sensation of this place—to me, at any rate.”
“The first time I ever saw you was at the fence there—five years ago, it must have been. Your hair was in a pigtail and—”
“I was sixteen then, and now I’m—about sixty.” She laughed rather drearily.
“And the last time I saw you, three months ago, you were there—”
“And no doubt if you come back in a hundred years, Mr. Hayward, you’ll find me there again!”
“I was glad to see you there to-night, Kitty—please don’t forbid me to be friendly. I’m feeling particularly friendless at present. Indeed, I think you might be kinder than call me ‘Mr. Hayward.’ What’s wrong with ‘Colin’?”
She ignored the question, but said kindly enough—“If you are in trouble, I’m sorry, and I hope it’s not serious.”
“I’ve failed in my final—for the second time.”
“Oh, Colin!” she exclaimed, sympathy putting an end to formality.
“Thanks, Kitty. That’s the most comforting thing I’ve heard since I came home.”