The sky was low, heavy and grey, and the air was chilly and yet close, and everything--sky, half-leafless trees, the gravelled drive too--seemed to be steaming with moisture. The words came to Boreham's mind: "My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves, At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves." "That won't do," he said to himself, as he still stood on the steps motionless. "It's no use quoting from Victorian poets. 'What the people want' is nothing older than Masefield or Noyes, or Verhaeren. Because, though Verhaeren's old enough, they didn't know about him till just now, and so he seems new; then there are all the new small chaps. No, I can't finish that article. After all, what does it matter? They must wait, and I can afford now to say, 'Take it or leave it, and go to the Devil!'" He turned and went up the steps. There was no sound audible except the noise Boreham was making with his own feet on the strip of marble that met the parquetted floor of the hall. "It's a beastly distance from Oxford," he said, half aloud; "one can't just drop in on people in the evening, and who else is there? I'm not going to waste my life on half a dozen damned sport-ridden, parson-ridden neighbours who can barely spell out a printed book." One thing had become clear in Boreham's mind. Either he must marry May Dashwood for love, or he must try and let Chartcote, taking rooms in Oxford and a flat in town. If Boreham had found the morning unprofitable, the Hardings had not found it less so. "Did Mrs. Potten propose calling?" asked Harding of his wife, as they sat side by side, rolling over a greasy road towards Oxford. "No," said Mrs. Harding. "It's quite clear to me," said Harding, "that Mrs. G. P. only regards Boreham as a freak, so that _he_ won't be any use." "We needn't go there again," said Mrs. Harding, "unless, of course," she added thoughtfully, "we knew beforehand--somehow--that it wasn't just an Oxford party. And Lady Dashwood won't do anything for us." "It's not been worth the taxi," said Harding. "I wish you'd not made that mistake about Miss Scott," said Mrs. Harding, after a moment's silence. "How could I help it?" blurted Harding. "Scott's a common name. How on earth could I tell--and coming from Oxford!" "Yes, but you could see she powdered, and her dress! Besides, coming with the Dashwoods and knowing Mrs. Potten!" continued Mrs. Harding. "If only you had said one or two sentences to her; I saw she was offended. That's why she ran off with Mrs. Dashwood, she wouldn't be left to your tender mercies. I saw Lady Dashwood staring." Harding made no answer, he merely blew through his pursed-up mouth. "And we've got Boreham dining with us next Thursday!" he said after a pause. "Damn it all!" "No. I didn't leave the note," said Mrs. Harding. "I thought I'd 'wait and see.'" "Good!" said Harding.