He dismissed the hedger generously and resumed his reins. "Shall we race?" he asked. "With your leg?" she inquired. "No; with the donkeys. I say, this _is_ rather a lark. At first I thought it was both dangerous and dull. But things have changed. I am in beastly high spirits. I feel there will be a cry before night; but still, I am----I wanted the companionship of an unbroken person. It's so jolly to meet you again." "Again?" "After the year before last." "After the year before last?" "You didn't know," said Trafford, "I had met you before? How aggressive I must have seemed! Well, _I_ wasn't quite clear. I spent the greater part of last night--my ankle being foolish in the small hours--in trying to remember how and where." "I don't remember," said Marjorie. "I remembered you very distinctly, and some things I thought about you, but not where it had happened. Then in the night I got it. It _is_ a puzzle, isn't it? You see, I was wearing a black gown, and I had been out of the sunlight for some months--and my eye, I remember it acutely, was bandaged. I'm usually bandaged somewhere. 'I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian slave' --I mean a candidate." Marjorie remembered suddenly. "You're Professor Trafford." "Not in this atmosphere. But I am at the Romeike College. And as soon as I recalled examining you I remembered it--minutely. You were intelligent, though unsound--about cryo-hydrates it was. Ah, you remember me now. As most young women are correct by rote and unintelligent in such questions, and as it doesn't matter a rap about anything of that sort, whether you are correct or not, as long as the mental gesture is right----" He paused for a moment, as though tired of his sentence. "I remembered you." He proceeded in his easy and detached manner, that seemed to make every topic possible, to tell her his first impressions of her, and show how very distinctly indeed he remembered her. "You set me philosophizing. I'd never examined a girls' school before, and I was suddenly struck by the spectacle of the fifty of you. What's going to become of them all?" "I thought," he went on, "how bright you were, and how keen and eager you were--_you_, I mean, in particular--and just how certain it was your brightness and eagerness would be swallowed up by some silly ordinariness or other--stuffy marriage or stuffy domestic duties. The old, old story--done over again with a sort of threadbare badness. (Nothing to say against it if it's done well.) I got quite sentimental and pathetic about life's breach of faith with women. Odd, isn't it, how one's mind runs on. But that's what I thought. It's all come back to me." Marjorie's bright, clear eye came round to him. "I don't see very much wrong with the lot of women," she reflected. "Things are different nowadays. Anyhow----" She paused. "You don't want to be a man?" "_No!_" She was emphatic.