“Take your time,” said Jolly again; “I don’t want to be unfair.”

And they both looked at Holly. She had recoiled against the bookshelves reaching to the ceiling; her dark head leaned against Gibbon’s Roman Empire , her eyes in a sort of soft grey agony were fixed on Val. And he, who had not much gift of insight, had suddenly a gleam of vision. She would be proud of her brother⁠—that enemy! She would be ashamed of him! His hands came out of his pockets as if lifted by a spring.

“All right!” he said. “Done!”

Holly’s face⁠—oh! it was queer! He saw her flush, start forward. He had done the right thing⁠—her face was shining with wistful admiration. Jolly stood up and made a little bow as who should say: “You’ve passed.”

“Tomorrow, then,” he said, “we’ll go together.”