“Where are you going, Lady Laura?  To Marmion?  Oh, no!  Come on to our barge, you will see so much better, and save yourself another dusty bit of walk.  Here we are!”

And she waved her parasol gaily towards a barge immediately ahead, belonging to one of the more important colleges.  Lady Laura looked doubtfully at her son.

Falloden suddenly accepted, and with the utmost cordiality.

“That’s really very good of you, Mrs. Manson!  I shall certainly advise my mother to take advantage of your kind offer.  But you can’t do with all of us!” He pointed smiling to Trix and Roger.

“Of course I can!  The more the merrier!” And the lively lady stooped, laid an affectionate hand on Roger’s shoulder, and said in a stage aside—­“Our ices are very good!”

Roger hastily retreated.

* * * * *

The starting-gun had boomed—­communicating the usual thrill and sudden ripple of talk through the crowded barges.

“Now they’re off!”

Lady Laura, Nelly, and “the babes” hung over the railing of the barge, looking excitedly for the first nose of a boat coming round the bend.  Falloden, between the two fair-haired Miss Mansons, manoeuvred them and himself into a position at the rear where he could both see and be seen by the party on the Christ Church barge, amid which a certain large white hat with waving feathers shone conspicuous.  The two girls between whom he stood, who had never found him in the least accessible before, were proud to be seen with him, and delighted to try their smiles on him.  They knew he was soon going down, and they had visions of dancing with him in London, of finding an acquaintance, perhaps even a friend, at last, in those chilly London drawing-rooms, before which, if their mother knew no such weakness, they often shivered.

Falloden looked down upon them with a half sarcastic, half benignant patronage, and made himself quite agreeable.  From the barge next door, indeed, the Manson and Falloden parties appeared to be on the most intimate terms.  Mrs. Manson, doing the honours of the college boat, flattering Lady Laura, gracious to the children, and glancing every now and then at her two girls and their handsome companion, was enjoying a crowded and successful moment.

But she too was aware of the tall girl in white on the neighbouring deck, and she turned enquiringly to Falloden.

“Do you know who she is?”

“The Risboroughs’ daughter—­Lady Constance Bledlow.”  Mrs. Manson’s eyebrows went up.

“Indeed!  Of course I knew her parents intimately!  Where is she staying?”

Falloden briefly explained.

“But how very interesting!  I must call upon her at once.  But—­I scarcely know the Hoopers!”

Falloden hung over the barge rail, and smiled unseen.

“Here they come!—­here they come!” shouted the children, laying violent hands on Falloden that he might identify the boats for them.