versation she
was on the verge of fresh ones. Would she never grow up, never behave
like other girls? That word _humble_! It seemed to burn her memory.

Before he could possibly answer she barred the way by a question as
short and dry as possible--

'What are you going to London for?'

'For many reasons,' he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'I have told no
one yet--not even Elsmere. And indeed I go back to my rooms for a while
from here. But as soon as Term begins I become a Londoner.'

They had reached the gate at the bottom of the garden, and were leaning
against it. She was disturbed, conscious, lightly flushed. It struck her
as another _gaucherie_ on her part that she should have questioned him
as to his plans. What did his life matter to her?

He was looking away from her, studying the half-ruined, degraded manor
house spread out below them. Then suddenly he turned--

'If I could imagine for a moment it would interest you to hear my
reasons for leaving Oxford, I could not flatter myself you would see
any sense in them. I _know_ that Robert will think them moonshine; nay,
more, that they will give him pain.'

He smiled sadly. The tone of gentleness, the sudden breach in the man's
melancholy reserve affected the girl beside him for the second time,
precisely as they had affected her the first time. The result of
twenty-four hours' resentful meditation turned out to be precisely
_nil_. Her breath came fast, her proud look melted, and his quick sense
caught the change in an instant.

'Are you tired of Oxford?' the poor child asked him, almost shyly.

'Mortally!' he said, still smiling. 'And what is more important still,
Oxford is tired of me. I have been lecturing there for ten years. They
have had more than enough of me.'

'Oh! but Robert said----' began Rose impetuously, then stopped, crimson,
remembering many things Robert had said.

'That I helped him over a few stiles?' returned Langham calmly. 'Yes,
there was a time when I was capable of that--there was a time when I
could teach, and teach with pleasure.' He paused. Rose could have
scourged herself for the tremor she felt creeping over her. Why should
it be to her so new and strange a thing that _a man_, especially a man
of these years and this calibre, should confide in her, should speak to
her intimately of himself? After all, she said to herself angrily, with
a terrified sense of importance, she was a child no longer, though her
mother and sisters w