“Those are the undergraduates, Annette—­the boys who live in the colleges.”

“They don’t stare like the Italian young gentlemen,” said Annette, shrugging her shoulders.  “Many a time I wanted to box their ears for the way they looked at you in the street.”

Connie laughed.  “I liked it!  They were better-looking than these boys.  Annette, do you remember that day two years ago when I took you to that riding competition—­what did they call it?—­that gymkhana—­in the Villa Borghese—­and we saw all those young officers and their horses?  What glorious fellows they were, most of them! and how they rode!”

Her cheek flushed to the recollection.  For a moment the Oxford street passed out of sight.  She saw the grassy slopes, the stone pines, the white walls, the classic stadium of the Villa Borghese, with the hot June sun stabbing the open spaces, and the deep shadows under the ilexes; and in front of the picture, the crowd of jostling horses, with their riders, bearing the historic names of Rome—­Colonnas, Orsinis, Gaetanis, Odescalchis, and the rest.  A young and splendid brood, all arrogant life and gaiety, as high-mettled as their English and Irish horses.  And in front a tall, long-limbed cavalry officer in the Queen’s household, bowing to Constance Bledlow, as he comes back, breathless and radiant from the race he has just won, his hand tight upon the reins, his athlete’s body swaying to each motion of his horse, his black eyes laughing into hers.  Why, she had imagined herself in love with him for a whole week!

Then, suddenly, she perceived that in her absence of mind she was running straight into a trio of undergraduates who were hurriedly stepping off the path to avoid her.  They looked at her, and she at them.  They seemed to her all undersized, plain and sallow.  They carried books, and two wore glasses.  “Those are what he used to call ’smugs’!” she thought contemptuously, her imagination still full of the laughing Italian youths on their glistening horses.  And, she began to make disparaging remarks about English young men to Annette.  If this intermittent stream of youths represented them, the English gioventu was not much to boast of.

Next a furniture shop appeared, with wide windows, and a tempting array of wares, and in they went.  Constance had soon bought a wardrobe and a cheval-glass for herself, an armchair, a carpet, and a smaller wardrobe for Annette, and seeing a few trifles, like a French screen, a small sofa, and an inlaid writing-table in her path, she threw them in.  Then it occurred to her that Uncle Ewen might have something to say to these transactions, and she hastily told the shopman not to send the things to Medburn House till she gave the order.

Out they went, this time into the crowded Cornmarket, where there were no colleges, and where the town that was famous long before the University began, seemed to be living its own vigorous life, untrammelled by the men in gowns.  Only in seeming, however, for in truth every single shop in the street depended upon the University.