Falloden had not seen her so gracious since Oxford had brought them again across each other.

They fell at once, for the first time since her arrival, into the easy talk of their early Riviera days; and he found himself doing his very best to please her.

She asked him questions about his approaching schools; and it amused him, in the case of so quick a pupil, to frame a "chaffing" account of Oxford examinations and degrees; to describe the rush of an Honour man's first year before the mods' gate is leaped; the loitering and "slacking" of the second year and part of the third; and then the setting of teeth and girding of loins, when a man realises that some of the lost time is gone forever, and that the last struggle is upon him.
"What I am doing now is degrading!--getting 'tips' from the tutors--pinning up lists--beastly names and dates--in my rooms--learning hard bits by heart--cribbing and stealing all I can.

And I have still some of my first year's work to go through again.

I must cut Oxford for the last fortnight--and go into retreat." Constance expressed her wonder that any one could ever do any work in the summer term-- "You are all so busy lunching each other's Sisters and cousins and aunts! It is a great picnic--not a university," she said flippantly.
"Distracting, I admit--but--" He paused.
"But--what ?" After a moment, he turned a glowing countenance towards her.
"That is not my chief cause of flight!" She professed not to understand.
"It is persons distract me--not tea-parties.