er good night.

Lady Dashwood's surprise was painful. "I do mind your running off," she
said, and she looked a little bewildered. "Must you go to-morrow? Must
you? To-morrow!"

Lady Dashwood had talked a great deal, both before May went into
Gwendolen's room and afterwards, when May came back again to the
drawing-room. May had told the reason for her long absence from the
drawing-room, but in an abstracted manner; and Lady Dashwood, observing
this, looked long and wistfully at her, but had asked no questions. All
she had said was, "I'm glad you've been with the child," and she spoke
in a low voice. Then she had begun talking again of things relevant and
irrelevant, and in doing so had betrayed her excitement. It was indeed
May now who was calm and self-contained, all trace of her "chill" gone,
whereas Lady Dashwood was obviously over-excited.

It was only when May said good night, and made this announcement about
going away on the following day, that Lady Dashwood's spirits showed
signs of flagging.

That moment all her vivacity suddenly died down and she looked no longer
brisk and brilliant, but limp and tired, a hollow-eyed woman.

"I do mind," she repeated. But she gave no reason for minding, she
merely added: "Don't go!" and stared at her niece pathetically.

But May was firm. She kissed her aunt very affectionately, and was very
tender in her manner and voice, but she was immovable.

"I must go, dear," she said; and then she repeated again: "Your troubles
are over! Seriously, Aunt Lena, I want to go!"

Lady Dashwood sighed. "You have done a great deal for me, May," she
said, and this gratitude from her Aunt Lena shook May's courage more
than any protest.

"I don't want to go," she said, "but I must go." That was her last word.

And May wanted to go early. Everything must be ready. She wanted to get
away as soon as Gwendolen had gone. She must not risk meeting the
Warden! He might return to lunch, she must go before lunch. She must not
see him come back. She could not bear to be in the house when he read
the letter from Gwendolen. _That_ was what made her fly. To stay on and
witness in cold blood his feelings at being rescued, to witness his
humiliation, because he was rescued, would be an intrusion on the
privacy of a human soul. She must go. So May packed up over night, slept
uneasily and in snatches, conscious of Oxford all the time, conscious of
all that it meant to her!

It was a grey morning when