Martin, now in his third year at Oxford, was somewhat mystified by the change brought about in Elsie by two years of “languages and music” passed in the most attractive of German cities. Though not flippant, her manner nonplussed him. She was distinctly “smart,” both in speech and style. She treated a young gentleman who had already taken his degree and was reading for honors in history with an easy nonchalance that was highly disconcerting. The last time they parted they had kissed each other, she with tears, and he with a lump in his throat. Now he dared no more offer a cousinly, or brotherly, or any other sort of salute in which kissing was essential, than if she were a royal princess.
“You’ve altered, old girl,” he said by way of a conversational opening when their horses were content to walk, after a sharp canter along a moorland track.
“I should hope so, indeed,” came the airy retort. “Surely, you didn’t expect to find the Elmsdale label on me after two years of kultur?”
“Whatever the label, the vintage looks good,” he said.
“You mean that as a compliment,” she laughed. “And, now that I look at you carefully, I see signs of improvement. Of course, the Oxford swank is an abomination, but you’ll lose it in time. Father told me last night that you were going in for the law and politics. Is that correct?”
Martin, masterful as ever, was not minded to endure such supercilious treatment at Elsie’s hands. He had looked forward to this meeting with a longing that had almost interfered with his work; it was more than irritating to find his divinity modeling her behavior on the lines of the Girton “set” at the University.
They had reached a point of the high moor which overlooked Thor ghyll. Martin pulled up his cob and dismounted.
“Let’s give the nags a breather here,” he said. “Shall I help you?”
“No, thanks.”
Elsie was out of the saddle promptly. She rode astride. In a well-fitting habit, with divided skirt and patent-leather boots, she looked wonderfully alluring, but her air of aloofness was carried almost to the verge of indifference.