‘So I hear, too,’ said Kendal; ’the theatre is quite as full, but the temper of the audience a good deal flatter.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Stuart; ’and then there is that curious little sister of hers, whom you haven’t seen, and who counts for a good deal.  I believe that in reality she is very fond of Isabel, and very proud of her, but she’s very jealous of her too, and she takes her revenge upon her sister for her beauty and her celebrity by collecting the hostile things people say about her acting, and pricking them into her every now and then, like so many pins.  At first Isabel was so sure of herself and the public that she took no notice—­it seemed to her only what every actress must expect.  But now it is different.  She is not so strong as she was when she came over, nor so happy, I think, and the criticisms tell more.  She is heartily sick of the White Lady, and is bent upon a change, and I believe she thinks this play of Edward’s is just what she wants to enable her to strengthen her hold upon the public.’

‘There never was a greater delusion,’ said Kendal; ’it’s the last part in the world she ought to attempt.  Properly speaking, unless she puts it in, there’s no posing in it, none of that graceful attitudinising she does so well.  It’s a long tragic part—­a tremendous strain, and would take all the powers of the most accomplished art to give it variety and charm.’

‘Oh, I know,’ sighed Mrs. Stuart, ‘I know.  But what is to be done?’

Kendal shrugged his shoulders with a smile, feeling as hopeless as she did.  The paleness of the beautiful face opposite indeed had touched his sympathies very keenly, and he was beginning to think the safety of Wallace’s play not such a desperately important matter after all.  However, there was his promise, and he must go on with it.  ’But I’ll be hanged,’ he said to himself, ’if I come within a thousand miles of hurting her feelings.  Wallace must do that for himself if he wants to.’

It had been arranged that Miss Bretherton should be allowed two breaches, and two only, of the law against sight-seeing—­a walk through the schools’-quadrangle, and a drive down High Street.  Mr. Sartoris, who had been an examiner during the summer term, and had so crept into the good graces of the Clerk of the Schools, was sent off to suborn that functionary for the keys of the iron gates which on Sunday shut out the Oxford world from the sleepy precincts of the Bodleian.  The old clerk was in a lax vacation mood, and the envoy returned key in hand.  Mrs. Stuart and Forbes undertook the guidance of Miss Bretherton, while the others started to prepare the boats.  It was a hot June day, and the gray buildings, with their cool shadows, stood out delicately against a pale blue sky dappled with white cloud.  Her two guides led Miss Bretherton through the quadrangle of the schools, which, fresh as it was from the hands of the restorer, rose into the air like some dainty white piece of old-world confectionery.  For the windows are set so lightly in the stone-work, and are so nearly level with the wall, that the whole great building has an unsubstantial card-board air, as if a touch might dint it.