As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had gone Gwen found it necessary to sit down and think whether she really liked Mrs. Dashwood so very much, or whether she only "just liked her," and this subject brought her back to the letter and the Warden, and all her lost opportunities! Gwen was startled by a knock at the door which she knew was produced by the knuckles of Lady Dashwood's maid. "Oh, Mademoiselle!" cried Louise. "You have not commenced, and Madame is ready." "The brown one," exclaimed Gwen, as Louise rushed towards the bed. Louise fell upon the bed like a wild beast and began dressing Gwen with positive ferocity, protesting all the time in tones of physical agony mingled with moral indignation, her astonishment at Mademoiselle's indifference to the desires of Madame. "I didn't know it was so late," said Gwen, who was not accustomed to such freedom from a servant. More exclamations from Louise, who was hooking and buttoning and pulling and pushing like a fury. "Well, leave off talking," said Gwen, looking very hot, "and don't pull so much." More exclamations from Louise and more pulling, and at last Gwen stood complete in her brown dress and black hat. While she was thinking about what shoes she should put on, Louise had already seized a pair and was now pulling and pushing at her feet. Lady Dashwood was giving instructions to Robinson in the hall, when Gwen came precipitately downstairs. The taxi was at the door, and Mrs. Dashwood was already seated in it. It was still raining. Of course! Everything was wretched! Now, what about an umbrella? Gwen gazed about her and seized an umbrella, earnestly trusting that it was not one that Lady Dashwood meant to use. How hot and flushed and late she was, and then--the letter! Oh, that letter! How horrible to be obliged to sit opposite to Lady Dashwood! She ran down the steps without opening the umbrella, and dashed into the taxi, Lady Dashwood following under an umbrella held by Robinson. "Here we are!" said Lady Dashwood. She seemed to have forgotten all about the letter, and she smiled at Gwen. They passed out of the entrance court of the Lodgings and into the narrow street, and then into the High Street. The sky and the air and the road and the pavements and the buildings were grey. The Cherwell was grey, and its trees wept into it. The meadows were sodden; it was difficult to imagine that they could ever stand in tall ripe hay. There was a smell of damp decay in the air.