But whether it was or wasn’t Gibson had no idea of returning to the field. He remained on the steps a moment, watching Mr. Collins out of sight around the corner of the old stone building, and then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, set off with a frown down the drive. He had almost reached the entrance gate at the foot of The Prospect when he saw a boy walking rapidly toward him from the direction of the village. Gibson wasn’t at all interested in the other pedestrian and gave him no more than a thought. But when they drew abreast he glanced up casually. Recognition was mutual.