‘I don’t get on much,’ said Martin with a swift confiding smile. ‘I’m such an idle devil. And so slow.’ She pondered. ‘I don’t think I’m particularly clever,’ she said. ‘Do you suppose most girls who go to College are?’ ‘Martin and I think they must be,’ said Roddy, twinkling. ‘They look it, I will say.’ ‘I saw some when I went for my examination. They were very plain.’ There was laughter; and she added in strict fairness: ‘There were two pretty ones,--two or three.’ ‘Then you intend to become a young woman with _really_ intellectual interests?’ said Roddy. ‘Oh yes. I think so.’ ‘That’s rather serious.’ She became suddenly aware that they were all laughing at her and stopped, overcome with shame and dismay. ‘Never mind.’ Roddy was twinkling at her with irresistible gaiety, and his voice was full of caressing inflections. ‘Martin will be delighted to see you. But don’t go to Newnham or Girton. Awful places--Martin is terrified of them. Go to Trinity. He’ll chaperone you.’ ‘Oh, give over, Roddy,’ said Martin indulgently smiling. ‘You’re too funny.’ ‘I hope your appendicitis is better?’ asked Judith politely. ‘Much better, thank you.’ He made a little bow. Nobody had anything more to say. They were not very good hosts. They stood around, making no effort, idly fingering and dropping the tags of conversation she offered them, as if she were the hostess and they most difficult guests. As in the old days, they formed their oppressive self-sufficient circle of blood-intimacy with its core of indifference if not hostility to the stranger. Charlie was dead, but now when they were all gathered together she felt him weighing, drawing them further aloof; and she wished miserably that she had not come. They were all casually engaged by themselves. Roddy was cleaning his pipe, Martin and Mariella playing with a spaniel puppy. It floundered on to Martin’s lap, and a moment after: ‘Oh, again!’ came Mariella’s clear little pipe. ‘What an uncontrolled chap he is! I’m sorry, Martin.’ ‘It’ll dry,’ said Martin equably surveying his trousers. ‘It’s nothing.’ Julian had sat down at the piano and was strumming _pianissimo_. Roddy took up the tune and whistled it. ‘What shall we do?’ said Mariella. She went on rolling the puppy. Julian turned round in his playing and looked at Judith. Gratefully she went over and stood beside him. By the piano, watching Julian’s hands, she was isolated with him and need not be afraid. ‘Go on playing. Something of your own.’ He shook his head and said: ‘Oh, that’s all gone.’ What lines, what harshness the war had given his always furrowed face! ‘But it’ll come back.’ ‘No. It was a feeble spark; and the God of battles has seen fit to snuff it. The war made some chaps poets--of sorts; but I never heard of it making anyone a musician.’ ‘Well, you can still play.’ ‘Oh, I strum. I strum.’ He sounded weary and disgusted. Was he saying to himself: ‘_Christ!_ You _bloody_ bore?’