When they reached the Lodgings they went into the gloom of the dark panelled hall. The portraits on the walls glowered at them. The Warden put up the lights and looked at the table for letters, as if he expected something. There was a wire for him; more business, but not unexpected. "I have to go to Town again," he said. "A meeting and other education business." "Ah!" said Lady Dashwood. She caught at the idea, and her eyes followed the figure of May Dashwood walking upstairs. When May turned out of sight she said: "Do you mean now?" "No, to-morrow early," he said. "And I shall be back on Saturday." Lady Dashwood seated herself on a couch; her letters were in her hand, but she did not open them. Her eyes were fixed on her brother. "Can you manage somehow so that I can speak to Gwendolen alone?" he asked. "I am dining in Hall, but I shall be back by half-past nine." Lady Dashwood felt her cheeks tingle. "Yes, I will manage it, if it is inevitable." She dwelt lingeringly upon the word "inevitable." "Thank you," said the Warden, and he turned and walked slowly upstairs. Very heavily he walked, so Lady Dashwood thought, as she sat listening to his footsteps. Of course it was inevitable. If vows are forgotten, promises are broken, there is an end to "honour," to "progress," to everything worth living for! At the drawing-room he paused; the door was wide open, and he could see May Dashwood standing near one of the windows pulling her gloves off. She turned. "I have to be in town early to-morrow and shall not return till the following day, Saturday," he said, coming up slowly to where she was standing. She glanced up at him. "This is the second time I have had to go away since you came, but it is a time when so much has to be considered and discussed, matters relating to the future of education, and of the universities, and with the future of Oxford. Things have suddenly changed; it is a new world that we live in to-day, a new world." Then he added bitterly, "Such as was the morrow of the Crucifixion." He glanced away from her and rested his eyes on the window. The curtains had not yet been drawn and the latticed panes were growing dim. The dull grey sky behind the battlements of the roof opposite showed no memory of sunset. "Of course you have to go away," said May, softly, and she too looked out at the dull sky now darkening into night. Should she now tell him that she had kept her word, that she had not seen the cathedral because she had not been alone. She had had a strong desire to tell him when it was impossible to do so. Now, when she had only to say the words for he was there, close beside her, she could not speak. Perhaps he wouldn't care whether she had kept her word--and yet she knew that he did care. They stood together for a moment in silence. "And you were not able to go with me to the cathedral," he said, turning and looking at her face steadily.