“But when can I see you?” he asked. “Has Mrs. Hooper a day at home? Will you come to lunch with me soon? I should like to show you my rooms. I have some of those nice things we bought at Syracuse—your father and I—do you remember? And I have a jolly look out over the garden. When will you come?”
“When you like. But chaperons seem to be necessary!”
“Oh, I can provide one—any number! Some of the wives of our married fellows are great friends of mine. I should like you to know them. But wouldn’t Mrs. Hooper bring you?”
“Will you write to her?”
He looked a little confused.
“Of course I know your uncle very well. He and I work together in many things. May I come and call?”
“Of course you may!” She laughed again, with that wilful sound in the laugh which he remembered. He wondered how she was going to get on at the Hoopers. Mrs. Hooper’s idiosyncrasies were very generally known. He himself had always given both Mrs. Hooper and her eldest daughter a wide berth in the social gatherings of Oxford. He frankly thought Mrs. Hooper odious, and had long since classed Miss Alice as a stupid little thing with a mild talent for flirtation.
Then, as he held out his hand to say good-bye, he suddenly remembered the Vice-Chancellor’s party.
“By the way, there’s a big function to-night. You’re going, of course? Oh, yes—make them take you! I hadn’t meant to go—but now I shall—on the chance!”
He grasped her hand, holding it a little. Then he was gone, and the Hoopers’ front door swung suddenly wide, opened by some one invisible.