Eric couldn't look into her eyes and tell her a fib. They were such clear, straightforward eyes, they seemed to look quite through him.
'Edgell is working for his Tripos,' he said evasively. 'He has only a few days longer before him.'
'He isn't working at this time in the morning?' said Lucy, looking straight at him.
He couldn't meet her eyes. He looked up admiringly at the red-brick front of Newnham as if he had never seen it before.
'No,' he said; 'he is not working now—he is——'
'I know what he is, without your trying to shield him,' Lucy interrupted with fine scorn. 'He is lying most likely drunk and incapable on the floor, or he is raving on his bed, and seeing hideous things. Oh, Mr. Gwatkin, what is the good of your friendship if you cannot keep him from this?'
Eric hung his head.
'He is beyond my keeping,' he said sadly. 'He is beyond the reach of my poor prayers. God knows I pray for him night and day!'
Lucy didn't say that she had been praying for him that very morning, that she had only just got off her knees, and come out in the rain to meet him.