"You haven't mailed your letter!" she said looking at the missive he still held.
"Oh! and I came—"
"There's the box, don't forget it!"
"Which way are you going?"
"Up to the Rotunda, of course."
"See how it commands everything else," said Frances, pausing at the sunken, well-worn steps in the terraced corridor to look about her. The morning shadows of the maples on the quadrangle stretched to the brick pavement at their feet, scarlet and yellow leaves, blown across the green grass, rustled about them; the picturesque buildings on the other side the campus loomed in deep shadowings, for the sun was yet behind them. A late student slammed his door and went hurrying down the corridor, his footsteps echoing along the way.
"It is beautiful!" said Frances softly, as she went up the few steps.
"Beautiful, yes, and you don't appreciate it half as much—"
"Appreciate it!"