However, he was in for it. At Marmion he led the party through two
quads and innumerable passages, till he pointed to a dark staircase up
which they climbed, each member of the family--except the guide--talking
at the top of their voices. On the third floor, Falloden paused and
herded them into the room of a shy second-year man, very glad to do such
a "blood" as Falloden a kindness, and help entertain his relations.

"Well, thank God, I've got you in!" said Falloden gloomily, as he shut
the door behind the last of them.

* * * * *

"How Duggy does hustle us! I've had nothing of a tea!" said Roger,
looking resentfully, his mouth full of cake, at his elder brother, who
was already beginning to take out his watch, to bid his mother and
sisters resume their discarded jackets, and to send a scout for a
four-wheeler.

But Falloden was inexorable. He tore his sister Nelly, a soft fluffy
creature of seventeen, away from the shy attentions of the second-year
man, scoffed in disgust at Trix's desire for chocolates after a
Gargantuan meal, and declared that they would all be late for the
Eights, if any more gorging was allowed. His mother rose obediently. To
be seen with such a son in the crowded Oxford streets filled her with
pride. She could have walked beside him for hours.

At the college gate, Trix pinched her brother's arm.

"Well, Duggy, say it!"