swift piercing streams, neither blue nor green, that gush out of
the dolomites. Her face was clear and brown, like the face of a
mountaineer; her hair was so plentiful that it seemed banked up
above it; and her little toque, though it answered the note of
the dress, was almost ludicrous, poised on so much natural glory.
When she moved, the sunlight flashed on her ear-rings.

He led them up to the luncheon-room. By now he was conscious of
his limitations as a host, and never attempted to entertain
ladies in his lodgings. Moreover, the Union seemed less intimate.
It had a faint flavour of a London club; it marked the
undergraduate's nearest approach to the great world. Amid its
waiters and serviettes one felt impersonal, and able to conceal
the private emotions. Rickie felt that if Miss Pembroke knew one
thing about him, she knew everything. During this visit he took
her to no place that he greatly loved.

"Sit down, ladies. Fall to. I'm sorry. I was out towards Coton
with a dreadful friend."

Mrs. Lewin pushed up her veil. She was a typical May-term
chaperon, always pleasant, always hungry, and always tired. Year
after year she came up to Cambridge in a tight silk dress, and
year after year she nearly died of it. Her feet hurt, her limbs
were cramped in a canoe, black spots danced before her eyes from
eating too much mayonnaise. But still she came, if not as a
mother as an aunt, if not as an aunt as a friend. Still she
ascended the roof of King's, still she counted the balls of
Clare, still she was on the point of grasping the organization of
the May races. "And who is your friend?" she asked.