The weather was all that the heart of man could desire, and the party met on the Paddington platform with every prospect of another successful day.  Forbes turned up punctual to the moment, and radiant under the combined influence of the sunshine and of Miss Bretherton’s presence; Wallace had made all the arrangements perfectly, and the six friends found themselves presently journeying along to Oxford, at that moderated speed which is all that a Sunday express can reach.  The talk flowed with zest and gaiety; the Surrey Sunday was a pleasant memory in the background, and all were glad to find themselves in the same company again.  It seemed to Kendal that Miss Bretherton was looking rather thin and pale, but she would not admit it, and chattered from her corner to Forbes and himself with the mirth and abandon of a child on its holiday.  At last the ‘dreaming spires’ of Oxford rose from the green, river-threaded plain, and they were at their journey’s end.  A few more minutes saw them alighting at the gate of the new Balliol, where stood Herbert Sartoris looking out for them.  He was a young don with a classical edition on hand which kept him up working after term, within reach of the libraries, and he led the way to some pleasant rooms overlooking the inner quadrangle of Balliol, showing in his well-bred look and manner an abundant consciousness of the enormous good fortune which had sent him Isabel Bretherton for a guest.  For at that time it was almost as difficult to obtain the presence of Miss Bretherton at any social festivity as it was to obtain that of royalty.  Her Sundays were the objects of conspiracies for weeks beforehand on the part of those persons in London society who were least accustomed to have their invitations refused, and to have and to hold the famous beauty for more than an hour in his own rooms, and then to enjoy the privilege of spending five or six long hours on the river with her, were delights which, as the happy young man felt, would render him the object of envy to all at least of his fellow-dons below forty.

In streamed the party, filling up the book-lined rooms and startling the two old scouts in attendance into an unwonted rapidity of action.  Miss Bretherton wandered round, surveyed the familiar Oxford luncheon-table, groaning under the time-honoured summer fare, the books, the engravings, and the sunny, irregular quadrangle outside, with its rich adornings of green, and threw herself down at last on to the low window-seat with a sigh of satisfaction.

’How quiet you are! how peaceful! how delightful it must be to live here!  It seems as if one were in another world from London.  Tell me what that building is over there; it’s too new, it ought to be old and gray like the colleges we saw coming up here.  Is everybody gone away—­“gone down” you say?  I should like to see all the learned people walking about for once.’