For amid a general stir, the Lord Chancellor had made his entrance, and was distributing greetings, as he passed up the hall, to his academic contemporaries and friends. He was a tall, burly man, with a strong black head and black eyes under bushy brows, combined with an infantile mouth and chin, long and happily caricatured in all the comic papers. But in his D.C.L. gown he made a very fine appearance; assembled Oxford was proud of him as one of the most successful of her sons; and his progress toward the dais was almost royal. Suddenly, his voice—a famous _voix d’or_, well known in the courts and in Parliament—was heard above the general buzz. It spoke in astonishment and delight. “Lady Constance! where on earth have you sprung from? Well, this is a pleasure!” And Oxford looked on amused while its distinguished guest shook a young lady in white by both hands, asking eagerly a score of questions, which he would hardly allow her to answer. The young lady too was evidently pleased by the meeting; her face had flushed and lit up; and the bystanders for the first time thought her not only graceful and picturesque, but positively handsome. “Ewen!” said Mrs. Hooper angrily in her husband’s ear, “why didn’t Connie tell us she knew Lord Glaramara! She let me talk about him to her—and never said a word!—a single word!” Ewen Hooper shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure I don’t know, my dear.” Mrs. Hooper turned to her daughter who had been standing silent and neglected beside her, suffering, as her mother well knew, torments of wounded pride and feeling. For although Herbert Pryce had been long since dismissed by Connie, he had not yet returned to the side of the eldest Miss Hooper. “I don’t like such ways,” said Mrs. Hooper, with sparkling eyes. “It was ill-bred and underhanded of Connie not to tell us at once—I shall certainly speak to her about it!” “It makes us look such fools,” said Alice, her mouth pursed and set. “I told Mr. Pryce that Connie knew no one to-night, except Mr. Sorell and Mr. Falloden.” The hall grew more crowded; the talk more furious. Lord Glaramara insisted, with the wilfulness of the man who can do as he pleases, that Constance Bledlow—whoever else came and went—should stay beside him. “You can’t think what I owed to her dear people in Rome three years ago!” he said to the Vice-Chancellor. “I adored her mother! And Constance is a charming child. She and I made great friends. Has she come to live in Oxford for a time? Lucky Oxford! What—with the Hoopers? Don’t know ’em. I shall introduce her to some of my particular allies.” Which he did in profusion, so that Constance found herself bewildered by a constant stream of new acquaintances—fellows, professors, heads of colleges—of various ages and types, who looked at her with amused and kindly eyes, talked to her for a few pleasant minutes and departed, quite conscious that they had added a pebble to the girl’s pile and delighted to do it.