At Marston Ferry, there was a general disembarking, a ramble along the river bank and tea under a group of elms beside a broad reach of the stream. Sorell noticed, that in spite of the regrouping of the two boat loads, as they mingled in the walk, Herbert Pryce never left Connie’s side. And it seemed to him, and to others, that she was determined to keep him there. He must gather yellow flag and pink willow-herb for her, must hook a water-lily within reach of the bank with her parasol, must explain to her about English farms, and landlords, and why the labourers were discontented—why there were no peasant owners, as in Italy—and so on, and so on. Round-faced Mrs. Maddison, who had never seen the Hoopers’ niece before, watched her with amusement, deciding that, distinguished and refined as the girl was, she was bent on admiration, and not too critical as to whence it came. The good-natured, curly-haired Meyrick, who was discontentedly reduced to helping Alice and Nora with the tea, and had never been so bored with a river picnic before, consoled himself by storing up rich materials for a “chaff” of Douglas when they next met—perhaps that evening, after hall? Alice meanwhile laughed and talked with the freshman whom Meyrick had brought with him from Marmion. Her silence and pallor had gone; she showed a kind of determined vivacity. Sorell, with his strange gift of sympathy, found himself admiring her “pluck.” When the party returned to the boat-house in the evening, Sorell, whose boat had arrived first at the landing-stage, helped Constance to land. Pryce, much against his will, was annexed by Nora to help her return the boats to the Isis; the undergraduates who had brought them being due at various engagements in Oxford. Sorell carried Constance off. He thought that he had never seen her look more radiant. She was flushed with success and praise, and the gold of the river sunset glorified her as she walked. Behind them, dim figures in the twilight, followed Mrs. Hooper and Alice, with the two other ladies, their cavaliers having deserted them. “I am so glad you like Mr. Pryce,” said Sorell suddenly. Constance looked at him in astonishment. “But why? I don’t like him very much!” “Really? I was glad because I suppose—doesn’t everybody suppose?”—he looked at her smiling—“that there’ll be some news in that quarter presently?” Constance was silent a moment. At last, she said— “You mean—he’ll propose to Alice?” “Isn’t that what’s expected?” He too had reddened. He was a shy man, and he was suddenly conscious that he had done a marked thing. Another silence. Then Constance faced him, her face now more than flushed—aflame. “I see. You think I have been behaving badly?” He stammered. “I didn’t know perhaps—whether—you have been such a little while here—whether you had come across the Oxford gossip. I wish sometimes—you know I’m an old friend of your uncle—that it could be settled. Little Miss Alice has begun to look very worn.”