May withdrew her hand. "As a friend," she said. "Yes, come as a friend."
Boreham gave a curious toss to his head. "I am under your orders," he said, "I obey. You don't wish me to come with you to the door—I obey!"
"Thank you," said May, simply. "And if you are lonely, well, so am I. There are many lonely people in this world just now, and many, many lonely women!" She turned away and left him.
Boreham raced rather than walked away from the Lodgings towards the stables where he had put up his horse. He hardly knew what his thoughts were. He was more strangely moved than he had ever thought he could be. And how solitary he was! What permanent joy is there in the world, after all? There is nothing permanent in life! It takes years to find that out—years—if you are well in health and full of vanity! But you do find it out—at last.
As he went headlong he came suddenly against an obstacle. Somebody caught him by the arm and slowed him down.
"Hullo, Boreham!" said Bingham. "Stop a moment!"
Boreham allowed himself to be fastened upon, and suffered Bingham's arm to rest on his, but he puffed with irritation. He felt like a poet who has been interrupted in a fit of inspiration.
"I thought this was one of your War Office days," he said bluntly.
"It is," replied Bingham, in his sweetest curate tones. "But there is special College business to-day, and I'm putting in an extra day next week instead. Look here, do you want a job of work?"
No, of course, Boreham didn't.