Travice was at that moment at Peter Arkell's, perched upon a side-table, as he talked to them. Henry leaned rather languidly back in an elbow-chair, his fingers pressed upon his head; Lucy was at work near the window; Mrs. Peter, looking very ill, sat at the table. Travice had not been at service on the previous afternoon, and the accident had been news to him this morning. "But how did you fall?" he was asking with uncompromising plainness, being unable to get any clear information on the point. "What threw you down?" "Well--I fell," answered Henry. "Of course you fell. But how? The passage is all clear between the seats of the king's scholars and the cross benches; there's nothing for you to strike your foot against; how _did_ you fall?" "There was some confusion at the time, Travice; the first lesson was just over, and the people were rising for the cantate. I was walking very fast, too." "But something must have thrown you down: unless you turned giddy, and fell of your own accord." "I felt giddy afterwards," returned Henry, who had been speaking with his hand mostly before his eyes, and seemed to answer the questions with some reluctance. "I feel giddy now." "I think, Travice, he scarcely remembers how it happened," spoke Mrs. Arkell. "Don't press him; he seems tired. I am so glad the dean gave him holiday." At this juncture, Mr. St. John came in with the medal. He stayed a few minutes, telling Harry he should take him for a drive in the course of the day, which Mrs. Arkell negatived; she thought it might not be well for the giddiness he complained of in the head. St. John took his leave, and Henry went with him outside, to hear the news in private of what had taken place in the college hall. Mrs. Arkell had left the room then, and Travice took the opportunity to approach Lucy. "Does it strike you that there's any mystery about this fall, Lucy?" "Mystery!" she repeated, raising her eyes. "In what way?" "It is one of two things: either that he does not remember how he fell, or that he won't tell. I think it is the latter; there is a restraint in his manner when speaking of it: an evident reluctance to speak." "But why should he not speak of it?" "There lies what I call the mystery. A sensational word, you will say, for so slight a matter. I may be wrong--if you have not noticed anything. What's that you are so busy over?" Lucy held it up to the light, blushing excessively at the same time. It was Harry's rowing jersey, and it was getting the worse for wear. Boating would soon be coming in. "It wants darning nearly all over, it is so thin," she said. "And the difficulty is to darn it so that the darn shall be neither seen nor suspected on the right side." "Can't you patch it?" asked Travice. She laughed out loud. "Would Harry go rowing in a patched jersey? Would you, Travice?" He laughed too. "I don't think I should much mind it."