irritation, it was to remain with him as illuminative of Killigrew--that
peculiar radiant smile which carried him so softly, if not triumphantly,
through life. It would have been a disgusting smile if it had been
calculated, even self-conscious; as it was, it made of Killigrew a
creature subtly apart, though for no deeper reason.

Old Tring said: "Killigrew, this is Ruan, who has come from Bolerium,
or, as you would vulgarly term it, Land's End. Take him and show him the
school, but bring him back to have tea with his guardian." The two boys
went out and as he was shutting the door Ishmael, who had the woodland
hearing of a little animal, caught some low-toned words of the Parson's:
"... makings of a fine spirit. I assure you, Tring ..." That was
himself, Ishmael Ruan, whom they were speaking of. "A fine spirit ...";
the phrase pricked his imagination--he swelled to it. He glanced at
Killigrew, who was whistling in rosy unconsciousness of proximity to any
spirit at all, and suddenly felt enormously relieved that the other boy
had not heard, aware, by the new angle to which he was already
responding, that Killigrew would have been disgusted rather than
impressed. Once in the courtyard, the freemasonry of young things
released from the pressure of grown-ups drew their eyes together.
Unconsciously Ishmael thrust his hands into the trouser pockets of his
new serge suit, in imitation of Killigrew, whose swagger was really a
thing inimitable. Something stirred in Ishmael which had hitherto been
unknown to him; it was not love, which in greater or lesser degree he
already knew--for he was an affectionate boy in his inarticulate way--it
was not merely an impulse for friendship; that would have been no alien
thing. It was the beginning of that relationship which only masculine
creatures ever really know, a relationship which is intimate without
ever making inroads on privacy; full of pleasure in companionship
without any feeling of a blank when apart; where love cannot be said to