CHAPTER XXX. UNCONSCIOUS RIVALS. June again at Oxford, and the year for grand Commemoration is again attracting numbers to the famous old city. Three years have passed since Charles Herbert walked down the High Street with his friend Horace Wilton on his way to the station to meet Mary Armstrong. The Fellow of Balliol is now wandering in Christ Church meadows with another very old friend, whom he is vainly trying to persuade to remain at Oxford till after Commemoration. "You have seen so little of the place, Reginald," said Horace; "and if you have decided to exchange into a regiment going to India, you should not miss being present for once on such an occasion." "It's no use, Horace," was the reply, free from the "aw-aw" so detrimental to Reginald Fraser's speech when addressing ladies, or suffering from nervousness. "It's no use; I couldn't remain now after all you told me last evening about Miss Armstrong's visit; perhaps she may be at Oxford again this year, and I wouldn't meet her for the world. How strange it seems that you should be acquainted with her." "It was scarcely a week's acquaintance," he replied; "and in all my visits since to the home of my friend Charles Herbert, in Park Lane, I have never met Miss Armstrong there, which is still more singular. But do you really consider your case hopeless?" "Indeed I do, although, as I told you, Mr. Armstrong gave me every encouragement." The young man paused, and then exclaimed, with a sudden effort-- "Wilton, I'll tell you all about it. I wanted to do so last night, but I thought an old bachelor like you would not care to listen to a love story." Horace Wilton stifled a sigh. The man of thirty-five was generally supposed to be wedded to his books, and to avoid the society of women from choice. The youthful undergraduates of the University would have wondered greatly had they been told some little of the romantic history attached to the erudite student's early days. Only a very few of his most intimate friends, Charles Herbert amongst the number, knew any of the circumstances. Yet, while reticent respecting his own experiences, his manner with his friends excited confidence, and in none more readily than Reginald Fraser, whom Horace had known from a child. "I am quite ready to hear the whole story," he said, with a slight smile; "probably it will be a relief to you to confide in one upon whose silence you know you can safely rely." "Indeed it will," said the weak-minded but amiable young officer. "You know our fellows would chaff me awfully if I talked to them as I did to you last night. But you know I felt sure of winning any girl if I could only muster up courage enough to pop the question, because of my money and all that. And when I'd got over what I thought was the worst bother, it was hard to be refused." "And what was the worst bother?" asked his friend, with a smile.