The doctor had come, pronounced his patient very greatly over-fatigued though not seriously ill, but he had forbidden her to leave her bed till he gave permission. "Keep a strict watch over her," he had said to May, outside in the corridor. "She has got to the point when rest will put her right, or fatigue will put her all wrong." When he had gone May came back into her aunt's room. "Now you know what it is to be under orders," she said with a smile. "And what about you, dear?" murmured Lady Dashwood, sweetly. "You can't stay on, of course, darling?" May frowned to herself and then smiled. "I shall stay till the doctor comes again, because I can't trust you, dear aunt, to keep in bed, if I go." "You can't trust me," sighed Lady Dashwood, blissfully. "I am beginning to realise that I am not the only reasonable person in the world. I suppose it is good for me, but it is very sad for you, May, to be sacrificed like this." May said she wasn't being sacrificed, and refused to discuss the matter any longer. So Lady Dashwood lay quietly looking at the narrow windows, from which college roofs opposite could be seen in a grey Oxford daylight. She made no reference to the Warden's return. She did not tell May when he was expected home, whether he was coming back to lunch, or whether he was coming by a late afternoon train. She did not even mention his name. And May, too, kept up the appearance of not thinking about him. She merely looked up with a rather strained attention if the door opened, or there were sounds in the corridor. The time came for her to go down to lunch, and Lady Dashwood did not even say: "You will have to take lunch alone." But she said: "I wonder what Marian Potten and Gwendolen are doing?" So May went into the dining-room and glanced round her with apprehension. Two places were laid, one for the Warden at the head of the table and one at his right hand. "You expect the Warden?" she asked of Robinson, who was standing in the room alone, and she came towards the table apprehensively. He pulled out her chair and said: "No, m'm, I don't think 'e will be in to lunch." May sat down and breathed again. "You think he will be late?" she asked, speaking as one who cares not, but who needs the information for purposes of business. "'E said to me, m'm," said Robinson, as he handed a dish to her with old gnarled hands that were a little shaky but still full of service, "as I was 'andin' 'im 'is 'at what 'e wears in London: 'If I'm not 'ome in time for lunch, I shall be 'ome by 'alf-past five.'" "Oh yes," said May. "Then you'll be putting tea for him in the library, won't you, Robinson?"