Edward, in a tweed shooting-jacket sauntering down to them, hands in his
pockets, and a cigar in his mouth, placidly unconscious of their
solicitude on his account. He was received with a little guttural cry of
delight; the misery they had been in about him was duly concealed from
him by both, and Julia asked him warmly who had won.

"Oh, Cambridge."

"Cambridge! Why, then you are beaten?"

"Rather." (Puff.)

"And you can come here with that horrible calm, and cigar, owning defeat,
and puffing tranquillity, with the same mouth. Mamma, we are beaten.
Beaten! actually."

"Never mind," said Edward kindly; "you have seen a capital race, the
closest ever known on this river; and one side or other must lose."

"And if they did not quite win, they very nearly did," observed Mrs. Dodd
composedly; then, with heartfelt content, "He is not hurt, and that is
the main thing."

"Well, my Lady Placid, and Mr. Imperturbable, I am glad neither of your
equanimities is disturbed; but defeat is a Bitter Pill to me.

Julia said this in her earnest voice, and drawing her scarf suddenly
round her, so as almost to make it speak, digested her Bitter Pill in
silence. During which process several Exeter men caught sight of Edward,
and came round him, and an animated discussion took place. They began