of life. She recognized something peculiar, different, beautiful, in Finch.
"I'm afraid I can't."
Leigh was astonished. He had expected Finch to be most gratefully eager to accept any offering of friendship from him.
"But why not?"
"Oh, I don't know. But I think I'd better not. Thanks just the same."
Leigh had been accustomed all his life to doing exactly what he wanted to, to having whatever he desired. His face showed the calm brightness of youth whose will has never been crossed.
"What nonsense! Of course you'll come. You're only shy. We need see very little of my mother and Ada, if it's that you mind."
"No. The truth is," Finch burst out, "I should never have gone into this thing."
Leigh said nothing, only looked at him with bright questioning eyes.
"I believe I'll have another glass of that—er—Benedictine."
"I don't think I would if I were you. It's rather potent. . . . You were saying"
Finch carefully set down his empty glass, fragile as a bubble. "You know I failed in my matric, Leigh."
"Certainly. Consequently you'll not need to swat at all this year. Take it easy."
"But my family"
"Tell me about your family, Finch. You've never spoken of your parents to me."
"They're dead. My eldest brother runs things."
"Your guardian, eh? What sort of chap is he? Hard to get on with?"
"Oh, I don't think so. He's sharp-tempered if you don't toe the mark. But he's awfully kind sometimes."
"What makes you think he won't be kind this time?"
"He's got no opinion of theatricals and things of that sort. He's all for horses."
"Ah, I remember. I saw him ride gloriously at the
