But now that they had met again, he was aware of doubts and difficulties that had not yet assailed him. That she was not indifferent to him—that his presence still played upon her nerves and senses—so much he had verified. But during their conversation at the Vice-Chancellor’s party he had become aware of something hard and resistant in her—in her whole attitude towards him—which had considerably astonished him. His arrogant self-confidence had reckoned upon the effect of absence, as making her softer and more yielding when they met again. The reverse seemed to be the case, and he pondered it with irritation.... “Oh, Duggy, isn’t it ripping?” cried Trix, leaping and sidling at his elbow like a young colt. For they had reached the river, which lay a vivid blue, flashing under the afternoon sun and the fleecy clouds. Along it lay the barges, a curving many-tinted line, their tall flag-staffs flying the colours of the colleges to which they belonged, their decks crowded with spectators. Innumerable punts were crossing and recrossing the river—the towing-path opposite was alive with men. Everything danced and glittered, the white reflections in the river, the sun upon the oars, the row of extravagantly green poplars on the further bank. How strong and lusty was the May light!—the yellow green of the elms—the gold of the buttercupped meadow! Only the dying moon in the high blue suggested a different note; as of another world hidden behind the visible world, waiting patiently, mysteriously, to take its place—to see it fade. “Oh, Duggy, there’s somebody waving to you. Oh, it’s Lord Meyrick. And who’s that girl with him? She’s bowing to you, too. She’s got an awfully lovely frock! Oh, Duggy, do look at her!” Falloden had long since looked at her. He turned carelessly to his mother. “There’s Meyrick, mother, on that barge in front. You know you’re dining with him to-night in Christ Church. And that’s Constance Bledlow beside him, to whom I asked you to write.” “Oh, is it? A good-looking girl,” said his mother approvingly. “And who is that man beside her, with the extraordinary hair? He looks like somebody in Lohengrin.” Falloden laughed, but not agreeably. “You’ve about hit it! He’s a Marmion man. A silly, affected creature—half a Pole. His music is an infernal nuisance in college. We shall suppress it and him some day.” “What barge is it, Duggy? Are we going there?” Falloden replied impatiently that the barge they were nearing belonged to Christ Church, and they were bound for the Marmion barge, much further along. Meanwhile he asked himself what could have taken the Hooper party to the Christ Church barge? Ewen Hooper was a Llandaff man, and Llandaff, a small and insignificant college, shared a barge with another small college some distance down the river.