In the midst of a stifled yawn the call to a fortnight’s continuous urbanity fell upon her like a whip. Dodging the blow she lolled resistant to the sound of bland voices. An onlooker, appreciative but resistant; that, socially, would be the story of her stay. A docile excursion, even if they should offer it, into this select little world, would come between her and her Switzerland. Refusal clamoured within her and it was only as an after-thought that she realised the impossibility of remaining for a fortnight without opinions. The next moment, hearing again the interwoven voices as a far-off unison of people sailing secure on smooth accustomed waters, she was bleakly lonely; suppliant. Nothing showed ahead but a return with her fatigue to sustain the silence and emptiness of a strange room. She was turning to glance at the woman on her left when the deep bass voice asked her casually if she had had a good journey. Casual cameraderie, as if already they had been talking and were now hiding an established relationship under conventionalities. The moment she had answered she heard the university voice across the way remark, in the tone of one exchanging notes with a friend after a day’s absence, that it was a vile journey, but all right from Berne onwards, and looked up. There he was, almost opposite, Cambridge, and either history or classics, the pleasant radiance of _lit. hum._ all about him, and turned her way bent a little, as if bowing, and as if waiting for her acknowledgment—with his smile, apology introduction and greeting beaming together from sea-blue eyes set only ever so little too closely together in a neatly tanned narrowly oval face—before regaining the upright. Her soft reply, lost in other sounds, made a long moment during which, undisturbed by not hearing, he held his attitude of listening that told her he was glad of her presence. The close-set eyes meant neither weakness nor deceit. Sectarian eyes, emancipated. But his strength was borrowed. His mental strength was not original. An uninteresting mind; also he was a little selfish, with the selfishness of the bachelor of thirty—but charming. The party was smaller than she had thought. The odd way they were all drawn up at one end of the table made them look numerous. Spread out in the English way they would have made a solemn dinner-party, with large cold gaps. Someone asked whether she had come right through and in a moment they were all amiably wrangling over the pros and cons of breaking the journey.