Supposing you looked like Mabel, would you love beauty even more passionately, or be so jealous of it that you hated it? Her eyes yearned at Judith. It was curious: they had in them a sort of avid glint--almost like the eyes of old men in railway-carriages.... And did Freda maliciously encourage her to wear pink flannel? And.... ‘One thing more,’ she said. ‘I do hope you won’t allow yourself.... I mean we mustn’t allow ourselves to--to get into a foolish set. It’s so difficult to know at first.... There’s a set here, I’m told’--she paused, flushing unbecomingly to her forehead--‘there’s a set here that thinks a great deal too much about--about going out, and dancing, and--men--all that sort of silliness.... There, I’m sure you don’t mind my telling you. You can always come to me for advice.... I’m told the Mistress judges so by the people we go about with.... ‘Good night, Miss Earle,’ she finished earnestly. ‘There’s your way: up the stairs and turn to the right. I’ll look out for you at breakfast to-morrow.’ Black Mabel. Haunted days and nights stretched out. No hope. No escape. Three years of Mabel settling down like a nightmare-bat, blotting out the light. Nobody but Mabel was going to speak to you for three years. She passed two maids, flaxen-haired, red-cheeked, thick-featured Cambridgeshire types. They were turning out the lights in the corridors; and they smiled broadly at her. Maids were always nice, anyway. ‘Good night,’ she said shyly. ‘Good night, Miss.’ At the corner of the corridor she heard one remark to the other: ‘There’s a sweet faice.’ A little comforted, she came to her own room, undressed and dropped a few tears. If he could have known how very unlike his Cambridge this place was! Too late now.... There was not a spire, not a light of Cambridge to be seen, not a whisper to be heard. Almost she could believe something Childe Rolandish had happened to it and it was gone; so that even its unseen nearness was no comfort. ‘Come in,’ she said in startled response to a tap at her door. Someone stood there in a dressing-gown, with bright hair rolling over her shoulders. ‘Oh!’ cried Judith in uncontrollable rapture. ‘I did hope....’ They gazed at each other, blushing and radiant. ‘I saw you at Hall.’ ‘Yes. I saw you.’ ‘I sat at the wrong table. It was awful.’ ‘I wish you’d been sitting beside me.... What’s your name?’ ‘Judith Earle. What’s yours?’ ‘Jennifer Baird.’ Yes. Jennifer was the right name. ‘That’s a nice name.’ ‘Why didn’t you come yesterday?’ ‘I just forgot. I muddled the date.... Wasn’t it an awful beginning?’ They laughed. ‘I always make muddles, don’t you? I never remember dates and things.’ ‘Nor do I.’ They laughed again. ‘I am thankful to find you, I can tell you,’ said Jennifer. ‘I was thinking I should be obliged to leave.’ ‘So was I.’ They beamed at each other.