g her.

It was not until he was interrupted by an afternoon class of his own
that he realized how long he had talked. He apologized to Professor
Binley; but she said she was honored beyond words. She had come to ask
him a technical question in prosody, as from one professor to another;
but she had forgotten it altogether--at least she put it off to another
visit. She hastened away in a flutter, feeling slightly as if she had
been to a tryst.

Litton went without his lunch that day, but he was browsing on memories
of his visitor. He had not talked so long to a woman since he could
remember. This was the only woman who had let him talk uninterruptedly
about himself--a very superior woman, everybody said.

When he went to his room that night he was still thinking of hyacinths
and of her who had brought them to his eyes.

He knocked from his desk a book. It fell open at a page. As he picked it
up he noted that it was a copy of the anonymous old spring rhapsody, the
_Pervigilium Veneris_, with its ceaselessly reiterated refrain,
"To-morrow he shall love who never loved before." As he fell asleep it
was running through his head like a popular tune: _Cras amet qui nunquam
amavit; quique amavit cras amet_.

It struck him as an omen; but it did not terrify him.

V

Professor Martha called again to ask her question in verse technic. The
answer led to further talk and the consultation of books. She was a
trifle nearsighted and too proud to wear glasses, so she had to bend
close to the page; and her hair tickled his nose again foolishly.

Conference bred conference, and one day she asked him whether she would
dare ask him to call. He rewarded her bravery by calling. She lived in a
dormitory, with a parlor for the reception of guests. Male students were
allowed to call on only two evenings a week. Litton did not call on
those evenings; yet the fact that he called at all swept through the
town like a silent thunderbolt. The students were mysteriously apprised
of the fact that old Professor Litton and Prof. Martha Binley were
sitting up and taking notice. To the youngsters it looked like a
flirtation in an old folks' home.

Litton's very digestion was affected; his brain was in a whirl. He was
the prey of the most childish alarms; gusts of petulant emotion swept
through him if Martha were late when he called; he was mad with jealousy
if she mentioned another professor.

She was growing more careful of her appearance. A n