“I cut them three years ago,” he said. “Was it very silly?” “I don’t know,” she answered. “I loved you then, Rose,” he said softly, taking her hand, “but I love you a thousand times more now, darling.” And Rose has told him something that makes him utterly happy--something they have known these many weeks, but neither has dared to express. They are but children, but why should they not be happy? Only boy and girl, but is that any reason why their love should not be true? And so they walk back through the deepening summer night, he as proud as knight of old, and she as happy as any “fair ladye.” And then by the vicarage garden-gate they say good-bye. They have not thought of the future. The present is theirs, and that is enough. She is a simple little village girl, and he an undergraduate; that is all. But “all” is a great deal to them. At six o’clock in the evening of July 1st, Edwards and his six pupils dined at the Grosvenor, wisely and not too well, in view of the passage that night. The party consisted of Hoskins of Brasenose, reading for Honours in Law; Lang and Kingdon of Christ Church, Maude of John’s, and Royds of Exeter, reading for the Final Pass Schools; and Frank, who had thus one companion only in work. Edwards was quite a young man. He had been married about two years, but left his wife and child at home. He was just of an age not to be “donnish,” and yet old enough to command a certain amount of necessary respect. The pecuniary arrangements were as usual. Each was to pay his own personal expenses, and tuition-fee to Edwards at the rate of 10_l._ per month. But for the sake of convenience he would make the actual payments, and divide the amounts weekly. At Victoria they broke up, for most of the men wanted to smoke. Edwards was not a smoker, and would have travelled to Dover alone had not Frank got into his compartment. The coach’s weakness in this respect was the one little difficulty on the tour, and afforded a fund of amusement to the rest, who were young enough to regard a non-smoker with feelings of surprise. With the exception of Royds, none of the seven had ever been abroad. He spoke French slightly, and had a smattering of German. Edwards could not speak a word of the former, but knew enough of the latter for comfort in travelling. No one else spoke either. Royds plumed himself on his position of superiority, not without offence to the rest of the party, who one and all joined in snubbing him whenever he forgot his relation to Edwards. He was just a source of a little “pleasant acidity.” “I should advise you to lie down, if you’re inclined to be sea-sick,” said Royds, for the benefit of the party generally, when they were on board. “I never am.”