e to take her to the railway-station
himself if he had intended to do so. His business was over and he
lingered, a desperate conscientiousness forcing him to linger. He
allowed himself to be button-holed by other men, not completely aware of
what was being said to him, because all the time in his imagination he
saw May waiting for him. He pictured her going down the staircase to the
hall and getting into her taxi alone. He pictured this while some one
propounded to him plans, not only for successfully getting rid of party
politics, but for the regeneration of the whole human race. It was at
that point that he broke away. Some one else proposed walking back to
King's with him.

"I'm going to the station," said the Warden, and he struck off by
himself and began to walk faster. He had run it too close, he risked
missing her altogether. That he did not intend. He meant to arrive a
moment before the train started. It was surely not part of his duty to
be absolutely discourteous! He must just say "Good-bye." He began to
walk still faster, for it seemed likely that he might be too late even
to say "Good-bye."

In Beaumont Street a taxi was in sight. He hailed it and got in. The man
seemed an outrageously long time getting the car round and started. He
seemed to be playing with the curb of the pavement. At last he started.

The squalor of the approach to the station did not strike the Warden
this afternoon. It always had struck him before unpleasantly. Just now
he was merely aware of vehicles to be passed before he could reach the
station, and he had his eyes on his watch continually to see how the
moments were going. Suppose the train moved off just as he reached the
platform? The Warden put his hand on the door ready to jump out. He had
the fare already in the other hand. The station at last!

He got out of the taxi swiftly. No, the train was there and the platform
was sprinkled with people--some men in khaki; many women. He was just in
time, but only just--not in time to help her, or to speak with her or
say anything more than just "Good-bye."

A sudden rage filled him. He ran his eyes along the whole length of the
platform. She was probably seated in a carriage already, reading, Oxford
forgotten perhaps! In that case why was he hurrying like this? Why was
he raging?

No, there she was! The sight of her made his heart beat wildly. She was
there, standing by an open carriage door, looking wistfully along the
platform,