"I don't think you told me that. Let's hear about it."
"Well, it's rather a long story——" she settled herself back with her cold hands thrust beneath the fur rug. "So if you get bored, please say so at once."
"Fire away," McTaggart observed.
"You remember that unholy fuss last Boat Race day? When I and the other Cambridge girls held the Bun Shop against Oxford?"
"No—not exactly. What Bun Shop?"
McTaggart saw fun ahead, for Jill's gray eyes were full of mischief beneath their dark lashes. He noticed, for the first time, how long and thick they were, curling back in a rippling line that cast a faint shadow when she lowered the lids.
"Oh, the Bun Shop is a little room in the basement of the college where old Mother Griggs sells all sorts of cakes, sticks of chocolate and hot coffee—for 'Elevens' or lunch, you know. It's at the end of a long passage, quite by itself, with just a counter across it and a dim religious sort of light from a top-window into the area. There Mother Griggs sits and barters—rather like a grim old idol—and in between she grumbles and knits socks. She must have knitted hundreds by now! Well, on boat race day we all wear colors—I'm Cambridge, of course, because Uncle was at King's. And some Oxford girl had a wonderful cousin who was rowing in the boat. So she simply 'swanked,' you know, and swore Oxford was sure to win. The end of it was we got riled. So we formed up into the Bun Shop—all of us Cambridge girls—and we held the place against Oxford right through the mid-day hour—— We wouldn't let a single Dark Blue pass. It was fun!—a gorgeous scrimmage. Until some sneak went up and told, and down came the Principal. As luck would have it, she fell on me. So I got put in the Black Book."
She paused for breath as they crossed FitzJohn's Parade and started on the steep climb to Hampstead.
McTaggart glanced at her and laughed.
"What does that mean?" he inquired.