But now young men, young men were all around him: in the houses opposite, on the pavements, in the hitherto so stately and silent quadrangles, on the river, in the playing fields. One night as he lay in bed Edmund had heard a great many cabs plying up and down Holywell, and in the morning this transformation had come to pass. The tide of youthful life flooded every corner. Even the grave grey buildings seemed to open sleepy eyes and laugh and wink at one another in enjoyment of this resistless torrent, and all the inherent sociability in Edmund’s nature gushed forth to join and mingle in the jocund stream. Before three days had passed he had friends in half a dozen colleges. His method of procedure was quite simple. He sallied forth without Montagu, who was shy and exclusive and would have died rather than address a stranger without legitimate cause, and selecting an apparently amiable and manifestly idle youth, asked him the way somewhere in broadest Doric. On two occasions he happened to hit upon a fellow-countryman, and directly he discovered this he spoke in an ordinary way, and they were friends at once. He generally explained exhaustively who he was and whence he came, where he lived and the resources of the establishment in Holywell, and his new-found friends evidently found his conversation amusing, for they neither snubbed nor checked his garrulity. On the day of Jane-Anne’s arrival he had been out all the morning finding his way about Oxford by the means indicated, and only returned just as Mrs. Dew was laying luncheon. "Is Jane-Anne not coming till afternoon?" he asked. "Jane-Anne’s here, Master Edmund, been here these two hours." "Here! and we’ve never been told nor seen her. Where is she?" "Sound asleep in my bed, she’s that weak—but I don’t believe moving her’s done her a bit of harm, she’s sleeping like a baby and looks that contented——" "Can we go and look at her?" asked Montagu. "No, sir, please, sir, I’d rather she slep’ as long as she can. She’s not slep’ much this last week an’ I shall let her be till she wakes." "Will you tell us whenever she wakes?" Edmund persisted. "You see, we go back to school in two days now so we shan’t see very much of her, ’specially if we don’t begin at once." "You young gentlemen had better keep on with your own doin’s and never mind Jane-Anne. She’s got to go to school, too—soon as she’s well enough," said Mrs. Dew primly. She set the last spoon and fork symmetrically in their places and went back to the kitchen to dish up lunch. Edmund looked across at Montagu. "I shall stop in this afternoon, and I’m going to see Jane-Anne," he whispered obstinately; "she’s in our house." "So’m I," said Montagu with brief decision. The bed and "bits of furniture" came from Jeune Street in the afternoon, and the noise of the men carrying things up the uncarpeted stairs woke Jane-Anne, who lay for a minute staring at the unfamiliar room and wondering where she was.