Falloden protested vehemently that he had been a persecuted victim at Cannes; the butt of Lady Connie and all her friends.
Constance, however, cut the speech short by a careless nod and good-bye, beckoned to Annette and was moving away, when he placed himself before her.
“But I hope we shall meet this very night—shan’t we?—at the Vice-Chancellor’s party?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, but of course you will be there! The Hoopers are quite sure to bring you. It’s at St. Hubert’s. Some old swell is coming down. The gardens are terribly romantic—and there’ll be a moon. One can get away from all the stuffy people. Do come!”
He gave her a daring look.
“Good-bye,” said Constance again, with a slight decided gesture, which made him move out of her way.
In a few moments, she and her maid were lost to sight on the crowded pavement.
Falloden threw back his head and laughed, as he and Lord Meyrick pursued the opposite direction. But he said nothing. Meyrick, his junior by two years, who was now his most intimate friend in the Varsity, ventured at last on the remark—
“Very good-looking! But she was certainly not very civil to you, Duggy!”