Constance and her maid hurried home along the Broad. The girl perceived
little or nothing on the way; but her face was crossed by a multitude of
expressions, which meant a very active brain. Perhaps sarcasm or scorn
prevailed, yet mingled sometimes with distress or perplexity.

The sight of the low gabled front of Medburn. House recalled her
thoughts. She remembered her purchases and Nora's disapproving eyes. It
would be better to go and beard her uncle at once. But just as she
approached the house, she became aware of a slenderly built man in
flannels coming out of the gates of St. Cyprian's, the college of which
the gate and outer court stood next door to the Hoopers.

He saw her, stopped with a start of pleasure, and came eagerly towards
her.

"Lady Constance! Where have you sprung from? Oh, I know--you are with
the Hoopers! Have you been here long?"

They shook hands, and Constance obediently answered the newcomer's
questions. She seemed indeed to like answering them, and nothing could
have been more courteous and kind than his manner of asking them. He was
clearly a senior man, a don, who, after a strenuous morning of
lecturing, was hurrying--in the festal Eights week--to meet some friends
on the river. His face was one of singular charm, the features regular,
the skin a pale olive, the hair and eyes intensely black. Whereas
Falloden's features seemed to lie, so to speak, on the surface, the
mouth and eyes scarcely disturbing the general level of the face
mask--no indentation in the chin, and no perceptible hollow tinder the
brow,--this man's eyes were deeply sunk, and every outline of the