'They say he is to head the list this year; that he is to be Senior Wrangler,' Pamela said in her cool, contemptuous way. 'Yes, he is sure to head the list. There is no one to touch him in the 'Varsity.' Pamela smiled. Eric had forgotten what rumour was saying about her--that it would be a neck-and-neck race. 'He is working hard, then?' she said indifferently. What could it matter to her if he were reading hard or raving on his couch with delirium tremens? 'Yes; he's working like a horse--like a giant, rather. He can do six days' work in one every day. No one can have any chance with him.' Pamela didn't ask Eric to have any tea, and he went away as he came. She didn't even go to the front door with him. She said good-bye, and sat down to the eight-legged table among her books, and left him to find his way out by himself. He knew his way pretty well. It was not the first time he had been there. When he was nearly at the end of the first passage a door opened and a girl came out and stopped him. It was Lucy. 'I have been thinking of what you said,' she whispered, with a little break in her voice, 'and I will do what I can. Tell him from me not to work too hard; to--to take care of himself--for my sake.' Her voice broke down entirely, and she went into the room and shut the door. He hadn't got to the end of the passage before another door opened, and another girl's head was put out--the head of a girl with red hair. It was Maria Stubbs. She watched him to the end of the passage, and then she sniffed in her unpleasant way and went into Lucy's room. She went in without knocking, and found Lucy on her knees. She had flung herself on her knees beside her couch, and was wildly imploring Heaven to make her love strong enough and tender enough to keep this man safe who trusted in her. She looked up when Maria came in, and stumbled up from her knees, pretending she had been looking for something under the couch, as she had been pretending just now she hadn't been crying; but she didn't take in Miss Stubbs. 'Who was that man you were talking to in the passage?' Maria said bluntly. 'It didn't look like Mr. Edgell.' 'No,' Lucy said meekly; 'it wasn't Mr. Edgell. It was Pamela's brother.' 'And he brought you a message from your lover? Of course he is your lover. I like to call things by their right names. I prefer to call a spade a spade.' 'No, he didn't bring me a message,' Lucy said, with some spirit. She wasn't always going to be trampled upon by Maria. 'But you sent a message by him. I heard you give him a message. Oh, it's no use trying to deceive me!' 'I couldn't help it--indeed I couldn't help it!' Lucy moaned; and then she sat down upon the couch beside which she had been kneeling, and began to cry.