don't see the good of that. Why should I work, when I don't feel
interested?"

"Because whatever you do, you will have to do things in which you
are not interested," said Howard.

"Well, I think I will wait and see," said Jack. "And now I must be
off. I really have said some awful things to you to-day, and I must
apologise; but I can't help it when I am with you; I feel I must
say just what comes into my head; I must fly; thank you for lunch;
and I truly will do better, but mind only for YOU, and not because
I think it's any good." He put down the cat with a kiss. "Good-bye,
Mimi," he said; "remember me, I beseech you!" and he hurried away.

Howard sat still for a minute or two, looking at the fire; then he
gave a laugh, got up, stretched himself, and went out for a walk.

Even so quiet a thing as a walk was not unattended by a certain
amount of ceremonial. Howard passed some six or seven men of his
acquaintance, some of whom presented a stick or raised a stiff hand
without a smile or indeed any sign of recognition; one went so far
as to say, "Hullo, Kennedy!" and one eager conversationalist went
so far as to say, "Out for a walk?" Howard pushed on, walking
lightly and rapidly, and found himself at last at Barton, one of
those entirely delightful pastoral villages that push up so close
to Cambridge on every side; a vague collection of quaint irregular
cottages, whitewashed and thatched, with bits of green common
interspersed, an old manorial farm with its byres and ricks,
surrounded by a moat fringed with little pollarded elms. The plain
ancient tower of the church looked gravely out over all. In the