“I think I’ll go straight to the station; thank you, all the same. I’ve promised to hold your mother’s hand to-night at a ghastly party.”

“Give her my love.”

“I will. Good-bye and thank you again. Goodbye, Edward. Enjoy yourself.”

“I’ll endeavour to,” said Edward, making her a bow.

Eric followed Margaret out. They walked along the street in silence.

“That’s King’s, isn’t it?” asked Margaret, at length.

“Yes,” Eric answered, and added:

“Have you been here before?”

“Once. Ages and ages ago. Before the War.”

After they’d talked to the College porter about trains, Eric said:

“I say—if you care to—I’ll make you a cup of tea in my room. It wouldn’t take a second. And there’s no point in going to the station yet.”

She smiled: “Thank you very much.”

“This is nice,” she said, when he had shown her into the sitting-room. She wandered round the shelves, picked up ‘Cunningham’ and turned over a few pages, tapped ‘Stubbs’ thoughtfully with her forefinger as if testing its solidity. Eric was a little embarrassed by the strangeness of her presence there. Aware of her semi-bohemian elegance, her aura of sex—for she was very attractive, certainly, although probably somewhere near forty—he got the kettle, filled it, lit the gas-ring on the landing, put his head into the cupboard for cups. When he came in with the tea she was on her knees at the fender, poking up the fire.

“It must be rather a nice life here, I should think,” she said; and Eric did not demur, did not even condemn her in his own mind as stupid.

There was a long silence. Then Margaret asked, as if half speaking to herself:

“I suppose you’re a great friend of Edward Blake’s?”

“I’ve known him a very long time,” said Eric. “He was a friend of my father’s.”

She did not appear to notice anything in his tone.

“Yes, I see,” was all she said.

There was another pause. They talked in a desultory way about indifferent topics. Then Margaret said she must really be going. Eric offered to accompany her to the station. She refused, smiling:

“I’ve made quite enough of a nuisance of myself already.’’

Chapter III

III

ERIC asked at the office for the number of Mr. Blake’s room. Upstairs, in the corridor, he met a maid with a breakfast-tray. The shoes still stood outside several doors. He had not realised that half-past nine might be considered by some people as early. And he wished now that he hadn’t brought his books and gown. There was a lecture at eleven. Plenty of time to make a second call at his College. But he had thought: Why should I put myself out? For him.