The subject of Guy was not mentioned again, but during the days that remained of the visit, Pauline scarcely felt that she was living in the Strettons' house, and was so absent in her demeanour that Monica was disturbed into what was for her a positive sociableness to counteract Pauline's appearance of inattention. To consummate the vexation of the visit there came a sudden thaw two days before they left, and Oxford was ankle-deep in slush. Finally Pauline and Monica were dragged through the very nadir of depression when on their last night they were taken out to dinner in trams and goloshes through such abominable conditions of weather. "Fancy not ordering a cab," whispered Monica with cold disapproval. "Perhaps they can't afford it," Pauline suggested. "They can afford to go to Madeira," answered Monica, "and buy all those stupid knick-knacks." "Well, Monica, they are your friends, you know," said Pauline. However, the first of February arrived next morning, and Oxford was left behind. Pauline sighed with relief when they were seated in the train, and the twenty miles of country to Shipcot that generally seemed so dull were as green and welcome as if they were returning from a Siberian exile. "You know, Monica, I really don't think we ought to stay with people. I don't think it's honest to spend such a hateful week as that in being pleasant," she declared. "I didn't notice that you were taking much trouble to hide your boredom," said Monica. "It seems to me that I was always in a state of trying to steer people round your behaviour." "Oh, but Professor Stretton loves me," said Pauline. She was trying not to appear excited as the omnibus swished and slapped through the mud towards Wychford. She was determined that in future she would lead that enclosed and so serene life which she admired in her eldest sister. Nobody could criticize Monica except for her coldness, and Pauline knew that herself would never be able to be really as cold as that however much she might assume the effect. "Grand weather after the snow," said the driver. The roofs of Wychford were sparkling on the hillside, and earth seemed to be turning restlessly in the slow winter sleep. "This mud'll all be gone with a week of fine days like to-day," said the driver. Plashers Mead was in sight now, but it was Monica who pointed to where Guy and his dog were wandering across the meadows that were so vividly emerald after the snow. "I think it is," agreed Pauline indifferently.