t pull
so much."

More exclamations from Louise and more pulling, and at last Gwen stood
complete in her brown dress and black hat. While she was thinking about
what shoes she should put on, Louise had already seized a pair and was
now pulling and pushing at her feet.

Lady Dashwood was giving instructions to Robinson in the hall, when Gwen
came precipitately downstairs. The taxi was at the door, and Mrs.
Dashwood was already seated in it.

It was still raining. Of course! Everything was wretched!

Now, what about an umbrella? Gwen gazed about her and seized an
umbrella, earnestly trusting that it was not one that Lady Dashwood
meant to use. How hot and flushed and late she was, and then--the
letter! Oh, that letter! How horrible to be obliged to sit opposite to
Lady Dashwood!

She ran down the steps without opening the umbrella, and dashed into the
taxi, Lady Dashwood following under an umbrella held by Robinson.

"Here we are!" said Lady Dashwood. She seemed to have forgotten all
about the letter, and she smiled at Gwen.

They passed out of the entrance court of the Lodgings and into the
narrow street, and then into the High Street. The sky and the air and
the road and the pavements and the buildings were grey. The Cherwell was
grey, and its trees wept into it. The meadows were sodden; it was
difficult to imagine that they could ever stand in tall ripe hay. There
was a smell of damp decay in the air.

Gwen stared fixedly out of the window in order to avoid looking at the
ladies opposite her. They seemed to be occupied with the continuance of
a conversation that they had begun before. Now, Gwen's mind failed and
fainted before conversation that was at all impersonal, and though she
was listening, she did not grasp the whole of any one sentence. But she
caught isolated words and phrases here and there, dreary words like
"Education," "Oxford methods," and her attention was absorbed by the
discovery that every time Mrs. Dashwood spoke, she said: "Does the
Warden think?" just as if she knew what the Warden would think!

This was nasty of her. If only she always talked about Gwen's hat
suiting her, and about other things that were really interesting, Gwen
believed she could make a life-long friend of her, in spite of her age;
but she would talk about stupid incomprehensible things--and about the
Warden!

The Warden was growing a more and more remote figure in Gwen's mind. He
was fading into something unsubstant