“It’s the libretto of a light opera,” he said solemnly, enjoying her amazement.
“Did you write it?” she asked breathlessly.
“Not the music, but the words and the lyrics. Now, I’ve told you my only secret,” he said. “You must never give me away, or the bottom would fall out of the chair of English literature at Wellington College.”
“I shall never, never tell,” exclaimed Molly; “and thank you ever so much for your kindness to-night.”
They clasped hands and the professor opened the door for her and stood back to let her pass.
Then he followed her down the passage to another door, which he also opened, and in the dim light she still noticed that quizzical look in his eyes, which made her wonder whether he was laughing at her in particular, or at things in general.
“Can you find your way to Queen’s Cottage?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “It’s the last house on the left of the campus.”
The next moment she found herself running along the deserted Quadrangle walk. Under the archway she flew, and straight across the campus—home.
It was not yet seven o’clock, and the Queen’s Cottage girls were still at supper. A number of students had arrived during the afternoon and the table was full. There were several freshmen; Molly identified them by their silence and looks of unaccustomedness, and some older girls, who were chattering together like magpies.