She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Very good. You haven’t an idea what the sort of employment you could get there would be like, the sort of people you would be mixed up with. It probably still wouldn’t help.
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