He meant well, but the picture he conjured up almost made Kennedy
break down. Nothing up to the present had made him realise the
completeness of his exile so keenly as this remark of Mr Blackburn's
about his bowling against the side for which he had taken so many
wickets in the past. It was a painful thought.

"I am afraid you won't have quite such a pleasant time in Mr Kay's as
you have had here," resumed the house-master. "Of course, I know that,
strictly speaking, I ought not to talk like this about another
master's house; but you can scarcely be unaware of the reasons that
have led to this change. You must know that you are being sent to pull
Mr Kay's house together. This is strictly between ourselves, of
course. I think you have a difficult task before you, but I don't
fancy that you will find it too much for you. And mind you come here
as often as you please. I am sure Silver and the others will be glad
to see you. Goodbye, Kennedy. I think you ought to be getting across
now to Mr Kay's. I told him that you would be there before half-past
nine. Good night."

"Good night, sir," said Kennedy.

He wandered out into the house dining-room. Somehow, though Kay's was
only next door, he could not get rid of the feeling that he was about
to start on a long journey, and would never see his old house again.
And in a sense this was so. He would probably visit Blackburn's
tomorrow afternoon, but it would not be the same. Jimmy Silver would
greet him like a brother, and he would brew in the same study in which
he had always brewed, and sit in the same chair; but it would not be
the same. He would be an outsider, a visitor, a stranger within the
gates, and--worst of all--a Kayite. Nothing could alter that.