“I’m afraid I shall have to hurry,” said the senior, with unmistakable decision. He looked at his watch ostentatiously. “I’m going away, and I have to pack.” She ignored the suggestion.
“Which of these mellow, world-old buildings do you live in?” she asked dreamily, stopping in the path.
“I don’t live in any of them,” said Beverly. He was extremely angry.
“Recluse,” she murmured.
It was irritating enough, Beverly thought, to be inveigled into towing the fatuous old frump through the public streets; but the thought that his acquaintance with the lady might not end at Claverly was maddening. Billy wouldn’t be there, of course; and it was impossible to put an unattached female cousin into his room and leave her. That particular quarter of town was not, as a rule, the most decorous on Class Day. There is always more or less, what is technically known as “trouble” in Claverly and its vicinity on Class Day afternoon. It takes the harmless form of young men with wisps of pink mosquito netting in their buttonholes, to whom the world for the time being is not such a dreary place after all; or perhaps it merely consists of innocently garbed swimming parties running foot races down the long corridors on their way to the tank. But at any rate Beverly hesitated to turn Billy’s cousin adrift there. It would be difficult to explain his having done so to Billy. He meant to abandon her somewhere and quickly, but not there.
They passed out of the crowded Yard. In his earnest desire to reach Claverly without delay, Beverly thoughtlessly turned into Holyoke Street. It was thronged with carriages and summery looking girls making for a common objective point, half-way down on the left-hand side. He didn’t realise his mistake in having chosen that particular route until it was too late.
“How allegro life is,” remarked his companion.
“It’s very warm,” answered Beverly, increasing his pace.
“Cynic,” was the reply. Beverly stared straight ahead, but he knew the sort of expression that had accompanied the imputation.
“They all seem to be going in there,” said Billy’s cousin, stopping on the curbstone opposite the Pudding building. “What is it?”