Before he could possibly answer she barred the way by a question as short and dry as possible—
'What are you going to London for?'
'For many reasons,' he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'I have told no one yet—not even Elsmere. And indeed I go back to my rooms for a while from here. But as soon as Term begins I become a Londoner.'
They had reached the gate at the bottom of the garden, and were leaning against it. She was disturbed, conscious, lightly flushed. It struck her as another gaucherie on her part that she should have questioned him as to his plans. What did his life matter to her?
He was looking away from her, studying the half-ruined, degraded manor house spread out below them. Then suddenly he turned—
'If I could imagine for a moment it would interest you to hear my reasons for leaving Oxford, I could not flatter myself you would see any sense in them. I know that Robert will think them moonshine; nay, more, that they will give him pain.'
He smiled sadly. The tone of gentleness, the sudden breach in the man's melancholy reserve affected the girl beside him for the second time, precisely as they had affected her the first time. The result of twenty-four hours' resentful meditation turned out to be precisely nil. Her breath came fast, her proud look melted, and his quick sense caught the change in an instant.
'Are you tired of Oxford?' the poor child asked him, almost shyly.
'Mortally!' he said, still smiling. 'And what is more important still, Oxford is tired of me. I have been lecturing there for ten years. They have had more than enough of me.'
'Oh! but Robert said——' began Rose impetuously, then stopped, crimson, remembering many things Robert had said.