the way to Grantchester.

I can stillsee Margaret as Isaw her that afternoon,see her fresh

fair face, with the little obliquity of the upper lip, and her brow

always slightly knitted, and her manner as of one breathlessly shy

but determined. She had rather open blue eyes, and she spoke in an

even musical voice with the gentlest of stresses and the ghost of a

lisp. And it wastrue, she gathered, that Cambridge stillexisted.

"I went to Grantchester," she said, "last year, and had tea under

the apple-blossom. I didn'tthink then I should have to come down."

(It was that started the curate upon his anecdote.)

"I'veseen a lot of pictures, and learnt a lot about them-at the

Pitti and the Brera,-the Brera is wonderful-wonderful places,-but

it isn't likereal study," she was saying presently… "We

bought bales of photographs," she said.

Ithought the bales a little out of keeping.

But fair-haired and quite simply and yet graciously and fancifully

dressed, talking of art and beautiful things and a beautiful land,

and with so much manifest regret for learning denied, she seemed a

different kind ofbeing altogether from my smart, hard, high-

coloured, black-haired and resolutely hatted cousin; she seemed

translucent beside Gertrude. Even the little twist and droop of her

slender body was a grace to me.

I liked her from the moment Isaw her, and setmyself to interest

and please her as well as Iknew how.

We recalled a case of ragging that had rustled the shrubs of

Newnham, and then Chris Robinson's visit-he had given a talk to

Bennett Hall also-and our impression of him.

"He disappointed me, too," said Margaret.

I was moved to tell Margaret something of my own views in the matter

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