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They exchanged addresses on leaflets torn from Miss Heydinger's little note-book. At the iron gates of the Schools she said: "I am going through Kensington Gardens." He was now feeling irritated about the addresses, and he would not see the implicit invitation. "I am going towards Chelsea." She hesitated a moment, looking at him puzzled. "Good-bye, then," she said.
"I wonder if she works hard." "It makes precious little difference if she does," said her friend. "I asked her yesterday what were the bones in the parietal segment, and she didn't know one. Not one." The next day Miss Heydinger's place was vacant. She was ill from overstudy and her illness lasted to within three weeks of the terminal examination.
On the door of the class-room was a list of those who had passed the Christmas examination. At the head of it was the name of the aforesaid frog-like boy; next to him came Smithers and one of the girls bracketed together. Lewisham ingloriously headed the second class, and Miss Heydinger's name did not appear there was, the list asserted, "one failure." So the student pays for the finer emotions.
After the practical plumber had been asking what he expected to make by this here science of his, re-reading her letters was balsamic. He liked Rossetti the exquisite sense of separation in "The Blessed Damozel" touched him. But, on the whole, he was a little surprised at Miss Heydinger's taste in poetry. Rossetti was so sensuous ... so florid. He had scarcely expected that sort of thing.
With a quick motion she stood up, and at once he stood up before her. Her face was flushed, her eyes downcast. "Good-bye," she said suddenly in a low tone and held out her hand. "But," said Lewisham and stopped. Miss Heydinger's colour left her. "Good-bye," she said, looking him suddenly in the eyes and smiling awry. "There is no more to say, is there? Good-bye." He took her hand.
On 9th August, Cape Prince of Wales, 65 degrees 46 minutes North, 191 degrees 45 minutes East, was sighted, and they believed it to be the most westerly point of North America. They landed on what, from Heydinger's Chart, was the eastern end of the island of Alaska, but it afterwards was found to be the eastern extremity of Asia.
That was one of the vivid moments of Miss Heydinger's life. She changed colour a little. "Do I?" she said, standing straight and awkward and looking into his face, "I'm ... glad." "I haven't thanked you for your letters," said Lewisham, "And I've been thinking ..." "Yes?" "We're first-rate friends, aren't we? The best of friends." She held out her hand and drew a breath.
And it shames her it reminds her Don't you see how it hurts her?" "Yes. I see. So that even that little " Miss Heydinger's breath seemed to catch and she was abruptly silent. She spoke at last with an effort. "That it hurts me," she said, and grimaced and stopped again. "No," said Lewisham, "that is not it." He hesitated. "I knew this would hurt you." "You love her. You can sacrifice " "No.
He did not meet Miss Heydinger's renewed advances with invariable kindness. Yet something of the old relations were presently restored. He would talk well to her for a time, and then snap like a dry twig. But the loaning of books was resumed, the subtle process of his aesthetic education that Miss Heydinger had devised.
Then in countless little things he had not been patient, he had not been fair. He had wounded her by harshness, by unsympathetic criticism, above all by his absurd secrecy about Miss Heydinger's letters. Why on earth had he kept those letters from her? as though there was something to hide! What was there to hide? What possible antagonism could there be?
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