May had now reached the ground, and she walked out on to the terrace into open daylight.
Boreham was at her side immediately, and she turned and looked at him. His pale blue eyes blinked at her, for he was aware that hers were hostile! Why?
"You would seem young to me," he said, trying to feel brave.
"Men and women ought," she said, with emphasis on the word "ought"—"men and women ought to wither and grow old in the service of Humanity. I think nothing is more pathetic than the sight of an old woman trying to look young instead of learning the lesson of life, the lesson we are here to learn!"
Boreham had had barely time to recover from the blow when she added in the sweetest tone—
"There, that's a scolding for you and for Ninon de l'Enclos!"
"But I don't mean——" began Boreham. "I haven't put it—you don't take my words quite correctly."
May was already walking on into the open archway that led to the cathedral. Before them stood the great western doors, and she saw them and stopped. Boreham wished to goodness that he had waited till they were in the cathedral before he had made his quotation. Through the open doors of that ancient building he could hear somebody playing the organ. That would have been the proper emotional accompaniment for those immortal lines of Shakespeare. He pictured a corner of the Latin chapel and an obscure tender light. Why had he begun to talk in the glare of a public thoroughfare?
"Shall we go inside?" he asked urgently. "One can't talk here."
But May turned to go back. "I should like to see the cathedral some other time," she said. "I must thank you very much for having shown me over the College—and—explained everything."