"No fear!" Paul vowed to himself. Never, never, never. But all he said was, "Thank you."
That night when, after saying good night to Gritty and her parents in the kitchen, he took his candle and went up the steep back-stairs to the "spare bedroom" that had become his makeshift home, his loss came to him in a blinding flash, which for an instant illuminated his life then left him in darkness. Never again would he experience the sense of safety and protection he had known ever since he could remember. From now on, nothing stood between him and the buffetings of life but his own puny will and the clumsy if well-meaning kindness of strangers who chanced to take a liking to him. For a moment he stood on the stairs while the candlelight cast wavering shadows which hideously dwarfed him. The moment seemed an eternity, for with his sudden serenity of thought and feeling the very universe stood still.
The slamming of an outer door caught him out of his thrall and he mounted the remaining steps.
Mrs. Kestrell was kind to him—kind and stupid. She had a rather absurd respect for his talents and good manners and always gave him a white linen table-napkin, whereas Gritty's was of crash with a pink border. While he secretly shared Mrs. Kestrell's respect for himself, he was ashamed of the feeling and disliked to use finer linen than Gritty. Not that Gritty minded, for she was a good sport. Besides, if Gritty had been piqued she would have gone straight to the cupboard and helped herself to the best table-napkin in the house. He preferred the rôle of quite ordinary boy. If you were treated as a quite ordinary boy you could surprise people by occasional revelations of superior wisdom, and it was amusing to surprise people; whereas if you were treated as a superior being you were cramped and intimidated by the consciousness that you must do nothing inferior, and in lots of ways
