wall for some minutes, then asked abruptly--

"Why did you send off Percival?"

"Oh--!" Darsie hesitated, and then answered with discretion: "I had
talked to him as much as I cared about for the moment, and I shall see
him soon again. He is going to get up a tea-party for me, with that
sweet Mrs Reeves as chaperon. I told him to ask you and Hannah."

"You should not have done that!" Dan spoke with sharp displeasure. "I
don't care to accept Percival's hospitality for myself, and certainly
not for my sister. I shall tell Hannah to refuse."

Darsie glanced across to where Hannah sat, a typical plain Hannah at
that moment, with feet planted well apart, and on her face the
expression of dour determination which she adopted in moments of
boredom; from her to Ralph Percival, standing in graceful pose, his
fine, almost feminine, profile outlined clearly against the panelled
wall, and, glancing, laughed softly to herself. It seemed so ridiculous
to think of this girl needing protection from this man.

"I fancy Hannah is quite capable of looking after herself."

"I'm sure of it. She's a new-comer, however, and she doesn't get into
Percival's set if I can help it."

"Dan! It can't be so bad if Mrs Reeves is willing to go. She accepted
in a minute. I heard her myself."

"She goes everywhere, to the wildest fellows' rooms. She has her own
ideas, no doubt, but I don't profess to understand them." He hesitated,
puckering his brows, and looking at her with dark, questioning eyes. "I
have no authority over you, Darsie, but I wish--"

"Ralph saved my life," interrupted Darsie simply.

Dan looked at her sharply, stared with scrutinising attention at her
face, but spoke no further word of protest. He evidently realised, as
Darsie did herself, that it would be a mean act to reject the friendship
of a man who had wrought so great a service.

Half an hour later the two girls slowly wended their way past the tower
gateway of Trinity, past Caius, with its twinkling lights, stately
King's, and modest Catherine's, to the homelike shelter of their own
dear Newnham.

"Well!" cried Hannah, breaking a long silence, "you had a big success
and I had--_not_! But you're not a bit happier than I, that I can see.
Men are poor, blind bats. I prefer my own sex; they are much more
discriminating, and when they like you--they _like_ you, and there's no
more shilly-shally. Those men never know their own minds!"

CHAPTER TWE