‘I can only judge by what I see,’ she said demurely. ‘Every Oxford man always behaves as if he were the cream of the universe. Oh! I don’t mean to be rude,’ she cried, losing for a moment her defiant control over herself, as though afraid of having gone too far. ‘I am not the least disrespectful, really. When you and Robert talk, Catherine and I feel quite as humble as we ought.’ The words wore hardly out before she could have bitten the tongue that spoke them. He had made her feel her indiscretions of Sunday night as she deserved to feel them, and now after three minutes’ conversation she was on the verge of fresh ones. Would she never grow up, never behave like other girls? That word _humble!_ It seemed to burn her memory. Before he could possibly answer she barred the way by a question as short and dry as possible,-- What are you going to London for?’ ‘For many reasons,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I have told no one yet--not even Elsmere. And indeed I go back to my rooms for a while from here. But as soon as Term begins, I become a Londoner.’ They had reached the gate at the bottom of the garden, and were leaning against it. She was disturbed, conscious, lightly flushed. It struck her as another _gaucherie_ on her part that she should have questioned him as to his plans. What did his life matter to her? He was looking away from her, studying the half-ruined, degraded Manor House spread out below them. Then suddenly he turned,-- If I could imagine for a moment it would interest you to hear my reasons for leaving Oxford, I could not flatter myself you would see any sense in them. I _know_ that Robert will think them moonshine; nay, more, that they will give him pain.’ He smiled sadly. The tone of gentleness, the sudden breach in the man’s melancholy reserve affected the girl beside him for the second time, precisely as they had affected her the first time. The result of twenty-four hours’ resentful meditation turned out to be precisely _nil_. Her breath came fast, her proud look melted, and his quick sense caught the change in an instant. ‘Are you tired of Oxford?’ the poor child asked him, almost shyly. ‘Mortally!’ he said, still smiling. ‘And what is more important still, Oxford is tired of me. I have been lecturing there for ten years. They have had more than enough of me.’ ‘Oh! but Robert said’--began Rose impetuously, then stopped, crimson, remembering many things Robert had said.