‘Dear Nora!—have things been going wrong? You look awfully tired. Do tell me!’
Nora checked herself at once. ‘Oh, not much more than usual,’ she said repellently. ‘And what about you, Connie? Aren’t you very bored to be coming back here, after all your grand times?’
They had emerged into the Corn. Before them was the old Church of St. Mary Magdalen, and the modern pile of Balliol. In the distance stretched the Broad, over which the October evening was darkening fast; the Sheldonian in the far distance, with its statued railing; and the gates of Trinity on the left. The air was full of bells, and the streets of undergraduates; a stream of young men taking fresh possession, as it were, of the grey city, which was their own as soon as they chose to come back to it. The Oxford damp, the Oxford mist was everywhere, pierced by lamps, and window-lights, and the last red of a stormy sunset.
Connie drew in her breath.
‘No, I am not sorry. I am very glad to be back—though my aunts have been great dears to me.’
‘I’ll bet anything Annette isn’t glad to be back—after the Langmoors!’ said Nora, grimly.
Connie laughed.
‘She’ll soon settle in. What do you think?’ She slipped her arm into her cousin’s. ‘I’m coming down to breakfast!’
‘You’re not! I never heard such nonsense! Why should you?’