ng day, Falloden had arranged the
most elaborate and exclusive of river-parties, with tea in the private
gardens of a famous house, ten miles from Oxford. His mother and sister
had been coming down for it, and he had asked other people from London.

"It was all for Connie--and Connie's had to scratch! And Mr. Falloden
has put it all off. He says his mother, Lady Laura, has a chill and
can't come, but every one knows--it's Connie!"

She and Sorell smiled at each other. They had never had many words on
the subject, but they understood each other perfectly.

"What made her scratch?" asked Sorell, wondering.

"Royalties," said Nora shortly, with a democratic nose in air.

It appeared that a certain travelled and artistic Princess had been
spending the week-end in a ducal house in the neighbourhood. So, too,
had the ex-Viceroy. And hearing from him that the only daughter "of
those dear Risboroughs" was at Oxford, twelve miles off, her Royal
Highness, through him, had "commanded" Constance for tea under the ducal
roof on Tuesday. A carriage was to be sent for her, and the ex-Viceroy
undertook to convey her back to Oxford afterwards, he being due himself
to dine and sleep at the Vice-Chancellor's the night before the Encaenia.

"Constance didn't want to go a bit. She was dreadfully annoyed. But
father and mother made her. So she sent a note to Mr. Falloden, and he
came round. She was out, but Alice saw him. Alice says he scarcely said
a word, but you could feel he was in a towering rage."

"Poor Falloden!" said Sorell.

Nora's eyes twinkled.

"Yes, but so good for him! I'm sure he's always throwing over other
people. Now he knows

"'Golden lads and lasses must
Like chimney-sweepers come to dust.'"

"Vandal!" cried Sorell--"to twist such a verse!"

Nora laughed, threw him a friendly nod, and vanished up the steps of the
Bodleian.

But Falloden's hour came!

The Encaenia went off magnificently. Connie, sitting beside Mrs. Hooper
in the semicircle of the Sheldonian Theatre, drew the eyes of the crowd
of graduates as they surged into the arena, and tantalised the
undergraduates in the gallery, above the semicircle, who were well aware
that the "star" was there, but could not see her. As the new doctors'
procession entered through the lane made for it by the bedells, as the
whole assembly rose, and as the organ struck up, amid the clapping and
shouting of the gods in the gallery, Connie and the grey-haire