to put down. He did not wish, he did not
intend, if he could help it, to be too much in love with anybody. He was
jealous of his own self-control, and intensely proud of his own strength
of will, as he might have been of a musical or artistic gift. It was his
particular gift, and he would not have it weakened. He had seen men do
the most idiotic things for love. He did not intend to do such things.
Love should be strictly subordinate to a man's career; women should be
subordinate.

At the same time, from the second week of their acquaintance on the
Riviera, he had wished to marry Constance Bledlow. He had proposed to
her, only to be promptly refused, and on one mad afternoon, in the
woods of the Esterels, he had snatched a kiss. What an amazing fuss she
made about that kiss! He thought she would have cut him for ever. It was
with the greatest difficulty, and only after a grovelling apology, that
he had succeeded in making his peace. Yet all through the days of her
wrath he had been quite certain that he would in the end appease her;
which meant a triumphant confidence on his part that to a degree she did
not herself admit or understand, he had captured her. Her resolute
refusal to correspond with him, even after they had made it up and he
was on the point of returning to Oxford, had piqued him indeed. But he
was aware that she was due at Oxford, as her uncle's ward, some time in
May; and meanwhile he had coolly impressed upon himself that in the
interests of his work, it was infinitely better he should be without the
excitement of her letters. By the time she arrived, he would have got
through the rereading of his principal books, which a man must do in the
last term before the schools, and could begin to "slack." And after the
schools, he could devote himself.

But now that they had met again, he was aware of doubts and difficulties
that had not yet assailed him. That she was not indifferent to him--that
his presence still played upon her nerves and senses--so much he had
verified. But during their conversation at the Vice-Chancellor's party
he had become aware of something hard and resistant in her--in her whole
attitude towards him--which had considerably astonished him. His
arrogant self-confidence had reckoned upon the effect of absence, as
making her softer and more yielding when they met again. The reverse
seemed to be the case, and he pondered it with irritation....

"Oh, Duggy, isn't it ripping?" cried Trix,