“We were asked for nine.”
“Then we must go and dress. Will it be very slow and stiff, Katie? I wish we were going to something not quite so grand.”
“You'll find it very pleasant, I dare say.”
“There won't be any dancing, though, I know, will there?”
“No; I should think certainly not.”
“Dear me! I hope there will be some young men there—I shall be so shy, I know, if there are nothing but wise people. How do you talk to a Regius Professor, Katie? It must be awful.”
“He will probably be at least as uncomfortable as you, dear,” said Miss Winter, laughing, and rising from the window; “let us go and dress.”
“Shall I wear my best gown?—What shall I put in my hair?”
At this moment the door opened, and the maid-servant introduced Mr. Brown.
It was the St. Ambrose drag which had passed along shortly before, bearing the eleven home from a triumphant match. As they came over Magdalen Bridge, Drysdale, who had returned to Oxford as a private gentleman after his late catastrophe, which he had managed to keep a secret from his guardian, and was occupying his usual place on the box, called out—