"Madame does not like Oxford?" said Louise, drily, as she stuffed the saint into a hat.
"I care for it very much, Louise," said May, hastily putting on her coat. "Oxford is a place one can never forget."
"Eh, bien oui," said Louise, enigmatically.
Then May went out and said farewell to the towers and spires and the ancient walls, and went to look at the trees weeping by Magdalen Bridge. It was all photographed on her memory. In the squalid streets of London, where her work lay, she would remember all this beauty and this ancient peace. There would be no possibility of her forgetting it! She would dream of it at night. It would form the background of her life.
Back again in the Lodgings, she found that she had only a few minutes more to spare before she must leave. She took farewell of Louise, and left her standing, her hand clasping money and her eyes luminous with reproach. There was, indeed, more than reproach, a curious incredulity, a wonder at something. May did not fathom what it was. She did not hear Louise muttering below her breath—
"Ah, mon Dieu! these English people—this Monsieur the Warden—this Madame la niece. Ah, this Lodgings! Ah, this Oxford!"
In the drawing-room May found Lady Dashwood in a loose gown, seated on a couch and "Not at home" to callers.
Only a few minutes more!
"I'm afraid I've been very long," said May. "But it is difficult to part with Oxford."