At exactly 12.9 it left them standing on the platform of a pretty station, with not a cab to be seen, wondering how they could get up to “the College.” Miss Ronald said she thought they had better walk, by all means; that they had not had any excitement or fatigue all evening, and that a mile walk at midnight would be just the thing for them; that they might run part of the way if they found walking too slow, and that she often went out and ran around a while in the middle of the night just for the fun of the thing. (Miss Ronald was getting sarcastic--misfortune had embittered her naturally sweet disposition.) Mr. Cunningham said hotly that he understood what she meant, and that no one could possibly be more sorry about the whole thing than himself, and that if necessary he would come over in person the next day and explain it to the President herself. But Miss Ronald said haughtily that, owing to the telegram they had sent, everyone probably thought her safe at the College, and that there would be no need of explanations. If any were to be made she preferred to make them herself. After that they walked swiftly and quietly up the long shaded paths. The fresh, earthy smell of the sward and early spring flowers, and the cry of the night birds, and the big College buildings standing out every now and then sharply defined in the moonlight, or shadowed by the great trees, with here and there a solitary light shining at some professor’s window, made it a very beautiful and impressive scene. But Miss Ronald was too unhappy to think much about it and walked haughtily and silently on, and Cunningham could not enjoy it for the remorse he felt and the knowledge that Miss Ronald--however, unreasonably--was angry with him. Besides, he was wondering what on earth was to become of him for the rest of the night. It was three miles to the nearest hotel, he thought gloomily, and he would have to take the first train into Boston in order to get over to Cambridge in time for a lecture which he did not wish to miss. * * * * *