“We must hurry,” said the escort, and they ran off down the High toward St. Mary’s, reaching the lodge on the final stroke. “Shall I come up to your rooms for a bit?” Maurice suggested to Michael. “I’m rather tired,” objected Michael, who divined that Maurice was going to talk at great length about Stella. He was too jealous of Alan’s absence that evening to want to hear Maurice’s facile enthusiasm. CHAPTER XI SYMPATHY Mrs. Ross and Stella left Oxford two days after the party, and Michael was really glad to be relieved of the dread that Stella in order to assert her independence of personality would try to smash the glass of fashion and dint the mold of form. Really he thought the two occasions during her visit on which he liked her best and admired her most were when she was standing on the station platform. Here she was expressed by that city of spires confusing with added beauty that clear sky of Summer. Here, too, her personality seemed to add an appropriate foreground to the scene, to promise the interpretation that her music would give, a promise, however, that Michael felt she had somehow belied. Alan dropped out of the Varsity Eleven the following week, and he was in a very gloomy mood when Michael paid him a visit of condolence. “These hard wickets have finished me off,” he sighed. “I shall take up golf, I think.” The bag of clubs he had brought up on his first day was lying covered with gray fluff under the bed. “Oh, no, don’t play golf,” protested Michael, “you’ve got two more years to get your Blue and all your life to play golf, which is a rotten game and has ruined Varsity cricket.” “But one can be alone at golf,” said Alan. “Alone?” repeated Michael. “Why on earth should you want to play an outdoor game alone?” “Because I get depressed sometimes,” Alan explained. “What good am I?” Michael began to laugh. “It’s nothing to laugh at,” said Alan sadly. “I’ve been thinking of my future. I shall never have enough money to marry. I shall never get my Blue. I shall get a fourth in Greats. Perhaps I shan’t even get into the Egyptian Civil Service. I expect I shall end as a bank clerk. Playing cricket for a suburban club on Saturday afternoons. That’s all I see before me. When is Stella going to Vienna?” “I don’t know that she is going,” said Michael. “She always talks a great deal about things which don’t always come off.” “I was rather surprised she seemed to like that man Avery so much,” Alan said. “But I suppose he pretended to know an awful lot about music. I don’t think I care for him.” “Some people don’t,” Michael admitted. “I think women always like him, though.” “Yes, I should think they did,” Alan agreed bitterly. “Sorry I’m so depressing. Have a meringue or something.” “Alan, why, are you in love with Stella?” Michael challenged. “What made you think I was?” countered Alan, looking alarmed.