deliberation Charles decided that he could; a half crown changed hands, and as Roland strolled back from the lodge the Abbey clock struck half-past six. Over two hours to prayers. He had done all his jobs, and there didn’t seem to be a soul in the place. He began to wonder whether, after all, it had been worth his while to catch that early train: it had been a dull journey, two hours in the company of three frightened fags, outhouse fellows whom he didn’t know, and who had huddled away in a corner of the carriage and talked in whispers. If, on the other hand, he had waited for the four-eighteen he would at that moment be sitting with five or six first-class fellows, talking of last year’s rags, of the new prefects, and the probable composition of the XV. He would be much happier there. And as for the dormitory and study, well, he’d have probably been able to manage if he had hurried from the station. He had done so a good many times before. Altogether he had made a bit of an ass of himself. An impetuous fool, that was what he was.
And for want of anything better to do, he mouched down to Ruffer’s, the unofficial tuck-shop. There was no one he knew in the front of the shop, so he walked into the inside room and found, sitting in a far corner, eating an ice, Howard, one of the senior men in Morgan’s.
“Hullo!” he said. “So you’ve been ass enough to come down by the early train as well?”
“Yes, I was coming up from Cornwall, and it’s the only way I could make the trains fit in. A bad business. There’s nothing to do but eat; come and join me in an ice.”
Howard was only a very casual acquaintance; he was no use at games; he had never been in the same form as Roland, and fellows in the School house usually kept pretty much to themselves. They had only met in groups outside the chapel, or at roll-call, or before a lecture. It was probably the first time they had ever been alone together.
“Right you are!” said Roland. “Mr. Ruffer, bring me a large strawberry ice and a cup of coffee.”
But the ice did not last long, and they were soon strolling up the High Street, with time heavy on their hands. Conversation flagged; they had very little in common.
“I know,” said Howard. “Let’s go down to the castle grounds; they’ll probably have a band, and we can watch the dancing.”
Halfway between the station and the school, opposite the Eversham Hotel, where parents stopped for “commem” and confirmation, was a public garden with a band stand and well-kept lawns, and here on warm summer evenings dances would promote and encourage the rustic courtships of the youthful townsfolk. During the term these grounds were strictly out of bounds to the school; but on the first night rules did not exist, and besides, no one was likely to recognize them in the bowler hats and colored ties that would have to be put away that night in favor of black poplin and broad white straw.
It was a warm night, and they leaned against the railing watching the girls in their light print dresses waltz in the clumsy arms of their selected.
“Looks awfully jolly,” said Howard. “They don’t have a bad time, those fellows. There are one or two rippingly pretty girls.”
“And look at the fellows they’re dancing with. I can’t think how they can stand it. Now look there, at that couple by the stand. She’s a really pretty girl, while her man is pimply, with a scraggy mustache and sweating forehead, and yet look how she’s leaning over his shoulder; think of her being kissed by that.”
“I suppose there’s something about him.”
“I suppose so.”
There was a pause; Roland wished that difference of training and position did not hold them from the revel.
“By Jove!” said Roland, “it would be awful fun to join them.”
“Well, I dare you to.”
“Dare say you do. I’m not having any. I don’t run risks in a place where I’m known.”
As a matter of fact, Roland did not run risks anywhere, but he wanted Howard to think him something of a Don Juan. One is always ashamed of innocence, and Howard was one of those fellows who naturally bring out the worst side of their companions. His boisterous, assertive confidence was practically a challenge, and Roland did not enjoy the rôle of listener and disciple, especially as Howard was, by the school standards, socially his inferior.
At that moment two girls strolled past, turned, and giggled over their shoulders.
“Do you see that?” said Roland.
“What about it?”
“Well, I mean. …”
The girls were coming back, and suddenly, to Roland’s surprise, embarrassment and annoyance, Howard walked forward and raised his hat.
“Lonely?” he said.
“Same as you.”
“Like a walk, then?”
“All right, if your friend’s not too shy.”
And before Roland could make any protest he was walking, tongue-tied and helpless, on the arm of a full-blown shop girl.
“Well, you’re a cheerful sort of chap, aren’t you?” she said at last.
“Sorry, but you see I wasn’t expecting you!”
“Oh, she didn’t turn up, I suppose?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Oh, get along, I know you; you’re all the same. Why, I was talking to a boy last week. …”
To save her the indignity of a confession, Roland suggested that they should dance.
“All right, only don’t hold me too tight—sister’s looking.”
There was no need to talk while they were dancing, and he was glad to be able to collect his thoughts. It was an awkward business. She wasn’t on the whole a bad-looking girl; she was certainly too plump, but she had a nice smile and pretty hair; and he felt no end of a dog. But it was impossible to become romantic, for she giggled every time he tried to hold her a little closer, and once when his cheek brushed accidentally against hers she gave him a great push, and shouted, “Now, then, naughty!” to the intense amusement of another couple. Still, he enjoyed dancing with her. It would be something to tell the fellows afterwards. They would be sitting in the big study. Gradually the talk would drift round to girls. He would sit in silence while the others would relate invented escapades, prefaced by, “My brother told me,” or, “I saw in a French novel.” He would wait for the lull, then himself would let fall—oh! so gently—into the conversation, “a girl that I danced with in the castle grounds. …”
The final crash of the band recalled him to the requirements of the moment, and the need for conversation. They sat on a seat and discussed the weather, the suitability of grass as a dancing floor, the superiority of a band over a piano. He introduced subject after subject, bringing them up one after another, like the successive waves of infantry in an attack. It was not a success. The first bars of a waltz were a great relief.
He jumped up and offered her his arm.
“From the school, aren’t you?” she said.
“How
