"Who is coming up with her?" I asked, and I felt that if I never wrote
to Nina, there was no reason why she should not write to me.

"She is going to stay at the Rudolf with the Faulkners. They are
coming next Monday morning," and having told me this, which he knew I
should not like, he was kind enough to go away before I told him again
what I thought of Mrs. Faulkner. For when Fred had been staying with
me at home the Faulkners were a fertile source of dispute between us.
The Faulkners had plenty of money, nothing to do, and no children; they
entertained a great deal, and had a mania for taking people up, as it
is called. I am almost certain that Mrs Faulkner tried to take me up
once, but unfortunately I was expected to run in double harness with a
fellow who wore a yellow tie and was no use at anything except talking.
I put up with him for nearly the whole of an afternoon, until he told
me that an ordinary dahlia, over which he was gushing, reminded him of
the sun rising over the Hellespont, and that was altogether too much
for me. I left him and offended Mrs. Faulkner by telling her what I
thought of him, and she told my mother that it was such a pity that I
was so _gauche_. It took me a long time to forgive her for saying
that, and I wished Nina was coming to Oxford with some one who did not
bother my mother with her opinions.

I sat and pondered over this visit for some time, while Murray kept on
telling me that Learoyd would be in bed if I did not hurry over to see
him. But what good I could get out of seeing him I could not
understand, and Murray became quite abusive before I started.

I knew Learoyd only in the most casual way, and I had never been in his
rooms in my life, so I should not have been disappointed if he had been
out. I found him, however, sitting by himself, and my first impression
was that he was either very sleepy or very sad, but whatever was the
matter with him he could hardly have wanted to see me. He was good
enough, however, to say he was glad that I had come.

The conversation flagged for two or three minutes until he roused
himself suddenly. "I have got the most vile attack of the blues
to-night," he said, "and somehow or other I can't shake them off." He
seized a decanter of whisky and began pouring some of it into a glass,
and then I did one of those things which I do impulsively and which are
occasionally right. I put my hand on his arm and said, "That stuff
will only pu