“Look here, are you going to put in an appearance at the St. John's garden-party?”
“Yes.”
“Well, time is getting on. Let us go.”
And on their way thither down the Broad, they discussed the Masonic Ball, the results of the Schools, the prospects of the cricket match, and kindred subjects, such as are dear to the hearts of dons in summer time.
The first person that Raine met at the Garden Party was his cousin, Mrs. Monteith. She skilfully disposed of a couple of pretty nieces she was chaperoning to some passing undergraduates, and walked up and down the lawn by his side.
She was a small, pretty, keen-faced woman, some two or three years his senior. Once upon a time she had fostered a conviction that Raine and herself had been born for one another, and had sought to share his soul's secrets. As long as she depended upon his initiative, all went well; but one day, having forced open a scrupulously locked apartment, she recoiled in pained surprise. Whereupon she decided that she had mistaken the intentions of the Creator, and forthwith married Dr. Monteith, whose soul's secrets were as neatly docketed and catalogued as the slips of his unfinished Homeric Lexicon. But she always claimed a vested interest in Raine's welfare, which he, in a laughing, contented way, was pleased to allow.
“So you're off to Switzerland,” she said. “What are you going to do there, besides seeing Uncle Louis?”
“Rest,” he replied. “Live in a pension and rest.”
“You'll find it dismally uninteresting. How long are you going to stay there?”
“Possibly most of the Long.”