"Not too long, surely," said Timothy, with a glance, adding persuasively, "I should hate to go alone."
"I should hate to have you," cried the marshal, with unmistakable sincerity.
"Ah!" said Timothy, intoxication mounting to his brain. He wanted to grasp some one by the hand and tell him what an altogether pleasing and agreeable world this was. "Ah!" he said again, "we will go together."
The marshal flushed and murmured, "Idiot!" Then she grew pinker than ever with vexation, while Timothy watched her confusion with an agreeable thrill.
"If he will go," thought the marshal, "I must certainly go too, to see that he doesn't get within speaking distance."
So they walked on, past Taylor Hall, and across the May-pole green, down to the hill below Radnor, where Robin Hood's men were holding forth. The crowd of people surged and eddied past them. All the wide expanse of campus was covered with moving throngs, and dotted with the brilliant May-day dresses. Banners of purple and gold and crimson were flaming from every window.
"I have stepped right out of America," remarked Timothy. "This place must be rather like a May-day fête, even on ordinary occasions."
"I hope not," thought the marshal, wearily.
"Those grey stone buildings, with all that ivy, are like feudal castles. I should think that the girls wandering about must be rather decorative, if they wear their caps and gowns."