“It’s genius,” said Connie, breathlessly—“just that—genius! I had no idea he had such a gift.” Falloden shrugged his shoulders without reply. He threw himself into a chair beside her, his knees crossed, his hands on the topmost knee, with the finger-tips lightly touching, an attitude characteristic of him. The lamp which had been brought in to light the piano shone full upon him, and Constance perceived that, in spite of his self-confident ease of bearing, he looked haggard and pale with the long strain of the schools. Her own manner relaxed. “Have you really done?” she asked, more graciously. “I was in for my last paper this afternoon. I am now a free man.” “And you’ve got your First?” He laughed. “That only the gods know. I may just squeak into it.” “And now you’ve finished with Oxford?” “Oh, dear, no! There’s a fortnight more. One keeps the best—for the last.” “Then your people are coming up again for Commem.?” The innocence of the tone was perfect. His sparkling eyes met hers. “I have no domestic prospects of that sort,” he said drily. “What I shall do with this fortnight depends entirely—on one person.” The rest of the room seemed full of a buzz of conversation which left them unobserved. Connie had taken up her large lace fan and was slowly opening and closing it. The warm pallor of her face and throat, the golden brown of her hair, the grace of her neck and shoulders, enchanted the man beside her. For three weeks he had been holding desire in check with a strong hand. The tide of it rushed back upon him, with the joy of a released force. But he knew that he must walk warily. “Will you please give me some orders?” he went on, smiling, seeing that she did not reply. “How has the mare been behaving?” “She is rather tame—a little too much of the sheep in her composition.” “She wants a companion. So do I—badly. There is a little village beyond the Lathom Woods—which has a cottage—for tea—and a strawberry garden. Shall we sample it?” Constance shook her head laughing. “We haven’t an hour. Everybody asks us to parties, all day and all night long. London is a joke to Oxford.” “Don’t go!” said Falloden impatiently. “I have been asked to meet you—three times—at very dull houses. But I shall go, of course, unless I can persuade you to do something more amusing.” “Oh, dear, no! We’re in for it. But I thought people came here to read books?” “They do read a few; but when one has done with them one feels towards them like enemies whom one has defeated—and insults. I chucked my Greek lexicon under the sofa, first thing, when I got back from the schools this afternoon.” “Wasn’t that childish—rather? I am appalled to think how much you know.” He laughed impatiently. “Now one may begin to learn something. Oxford is precious little use. But it’s not worth while being beaten—in anything. Shall we say Thursday, then?—for our ride?” Constance opened her eyes in pretended astonishment.