ay, John Lefolle was good-naturedly giving a special audience
to a muscular dunce, trying to explain to him the political effects of
the Crusades, when there was a knock at the sitting-room door, and the
scout ushered in Mrs. Glamorys. She was bewitchingly dressed in white,
and stood in the open doorway, smiling--an embodiment of the summer he
was neglecting. He rose, but his tongue was paralysed. The dunce became
suddenly important--a symbol of the decorum he had been outraging. His
soul, torn so abruptly from history to romance, could not get up the
right emotion. Why this imprudence of Winifred's? She had been so
careful heretofore.

'What a lot of boots there are on your staircase!' she said gaily.

He laughed. The spell was broken. 'Yes, the heap to be cleaned is rather
obtrusive,' he said, 'but I suppose it is a sort of tradition.'

'I think I've got hold of the thing pretty well now, sir.' The dunce
rose and smiled, and his tutor realized how little the dunce had to
learn in some things. He felt quite grateful to him.

'Oh, well, you'll come and see me again after lunch, won't you, if one
or two points occur to you for elucidation,' he said, feeling vaguely a
liar, and generally guilty. But when, on the departure of the dunce,
Winifred held out her arms, everything fell from him but the sense of
the exquisite moment. Their lips met for the first time, but only for an
instant. He had scarcely time to realize that this wonderful thing had
happened before the mobile creature had darted to his book-shelves and
was examining a Thucydides upside down.

'How clever to know Greek!' she exclaimed. 'And do you really talk it
with the other dons?'

'No, we never talk shop,' he laughed. 'But, Winifred, what made you come
here?'

'I had never seen Oxford. Isn't it beautiful?'

'There's nothing beautiful _here_,' he said, looking round his sober
study.

'No,' she admitted; 'there's nothing I care for here,' and had left
another celestial kiss on his lips before he knew it. 'And now you must
take me to lunch and on the river.'

He stammered, 'I have--work.'

She pouted. 'But I can't stay beyond tomorrow morning, and I want so
much to see all your celebrated oarsmen practising.'

'You are not staying over the night?' he gasped.

'Yes, I am,' and she threw him a dazzling glance.

His heart went pit-a-pat. 'Where?' he murmured.

'Oh, some poky little hotel near the station. The swell hotels are
full.'

He was