"What is it? Remember, I didn't ask you to wait." "Who has given you a bad name, and why?" "Most people who know me." "I read the other day that majorities are always wrong," she remarked. "Majorities are always right, just the same as minorities and everybody else." "Everybody right!" "According to their lights. We are as we are made, and, whatever some people say, we can never be anything else. And that's the devil of it. It's all so unfair." "Why unfair?" "It's just one's confounded luck what temperament one's inflicted with. I should think you were to be congratulated. You look as if you could be infernally happy." "Aren't you?" "Who is?" "Loads of people," she declared emphatically. "The very vain and the very stupid. Who else?" Mavis was beginning to be interested. It amused and, at the same time, touched her to notice the difference between the dreary nature of the sentiments and the youthful, comely face of the speaker. "I'm going now," she said. "Frightened of being seen with me?" he asked. "When I've Jill for a chaperone?" "Why don't you come as far as Broughton with me?" "Across the river?" "I've a punt moored not far from here." "But I've got to get back to a meal." "We can get something to eat there." "I don't think I will." "Is it too far?" "I can walk any distance." "Someone was asking about you the other day." "Who?" "Archie Windebank. He wrote from India." "What did he say?" asked Mavis, striving to conceal the interest she felt. "I forget, for the moment, what it was. If I remember, I'll tell you." "Don't forget." "He's rather keen on you, isn't he?" "How should I know?" "He's a fool if he isn't." "What makes you think he is?" "I'd only an idea. Are you coming to Broughton?" "I'll compromise. I'll come as far as your punt." "Spoken like a good little Mavis." They followed the course of the river. The stream's windings were so vigorous that, when they had walked for some way, they had made small progress in the direction in which Perigal was going. Mavis was strangely happy. With the exception of her brief acquaintance with Windebank, she had never before enjoyed the society of a man, who was a gentleman, on equal terms. And Windebank was coming home unharmed from the operations in which he had won distinction; she had read of his brave doings from time to time in the papers: she rejoiced to learn that he had not forgotten her. "Thinking of Windebank?" asked Perigal, noticing her silence. "Yes." "Lucky chap! But he's an awfully good sort, straight-forward and all that." Mavis again assented. "A bit obvious, though." "What do you mean by that?" "Eh! Oh, well, you always know what his opinions are going to be on any given subject." "I think he's delightful." "So do I," assented Perigal, to add, as a qualifying afterthought, "A bit tiring to live with." "I'm sorry, but I can't speak from experience," retorted Mavis, who disliked Perigal to criticise her friend.