"I didn't want to waste your time," she said, and she drew her gloves through her hand and moved away.
"Bingham," he said, "knows more than I do, perhaps more than any man in Oxford, about mediæval architecture."
"Ah yes," said May, and she walked slowly towards the fireplace.
"And he will have shown you everything," he persisted.
May was now in front of the portrait, though she did not notice it.
"I didn't go into the cathedral," she said.
The Warden raised his head as if throwing off some invisible burden. Then he moved and came and stood near her—also facing the portrait. But neither noticed the large luminous eyes fixed upon them, visible even in the darkening room.
"I suppose one ought not to be critical of a drawing-room song," said the Warden, and his voice now was changed.
May moved her head slightly towards him, but did not meet his eyes.
"I was inclined," he said, "but then I am by trade a college tutor, to criticise one line of Tennyson's verse."