Charles and Veronica sat on a wicker seat under a beech tree. Its lower branches were close above their heads, and the green transparency of the fresh young leaves seemed an exact counter­part to the vivid innocence of their emotion. It had been a good idea to bring her here. When he had first driven up for her in a car of his own, and they had decided on a day’s excursion as soon as it could be arranged, he had left the choice of direction to her; and when she had said she wished to see his college, he had felt a flush of discomfort at the thought of revisiting the scene of so much folly and embarrassment; he had been on the point of explaining to her his revulsion against the place, and people, by whose means he had been so painstakingly unfitted for life. But he had suppressed it, and now, all was perfection. The car had run beautifully, the day was superb—one of those freak hot days in late April—and here was the College putting forth all its beauty as if to make amends to him for all it had denied. The garden took her slight form and enthroned it in a splendour that left no detail of perfection to be desired. The sun shone warmly on his utter contentment.

As they sat, silently happy, a tall shambling figure swayed slowly across the lawn in front of them. It was Lockwood, his brows furrowed in what passed for thought. Something stirred in Charles, prompting him to issue a challenge.

‘Lockwood,’ he said sharply and brutally.

The loose-knit figure swayed to a standstill, the watery eyes looked over the upper rims of horn circles. Slowly the tutor brought his mind to bear on this new disturbance. He opened and shut his mouth several times; it was obvious that he was trying to remember, first, who this was, and secondly, whether he was one of the present generation of undergraduates or had gone down. Then he noticed Veronica, and a hungry look challenged the presiding bewilderment on his features.

‘Oh, er,’ he said, and paused for a long time. Taking out a brown metal case, he removed his spectacles and put them inside it. Then he replaced the case in his pocket and took out another, similar case. From it he drew out another pair of glasses, this time with shiny metal rims. These he held in his hand. Two small egg-shaped patches of light, reflected from their lenses, swayed gently to and fro on the grass by Veronica’s sandalled feet. Charles had the odd sensation that if one of them should actually rest for an instant on her bare skin it would burn her.

‘It’s you, Lumley,’ said Lockwood. ‘Haven’t seen you since you went down.’