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Meyrick reported that the latest news from Marmion was that Sorell and Fanning between them had decided to take Radowitz up to town that afternoon for the opinion of Sir Horley Wood, the great surgeon. "Have you seen Sorell?" "Yes. But he would hardly speak to me. He said we'd perhaps spoilt his life." "Whose?" "Radowitz's." Falloden's expression stiffened. "That's nonsense.
It might just help him through some weary hours that's all one can say. "The relation between him and Mr. Sorell is wonderful. Oh, what an angel Mr. Sorell is! How can any human being, and with no trouble at all apparently, be so unselfish, so self-controlled? What will any woman do who falls in love with him?
It was impossible to mistake the springing step and tall slenderness of Constance Bledlow. He rapidly weighed the pros and cons of overtaking her. It was most unlikely that she had yet heard of the accident. And yet she might have seen Sorell. He made up his mind and quickened his pace. She heard the steps behind her and involuntarily looked round.
I hold firm. Good-bye. That's the Cathedral bell." But Constance and Sorell, followed discreetly by Annette, departed first. Mrs. Mulholland stayed for a final word to the Master, before obeying the silver voice from St. Frideswide's tower. "To think of that girl being handed over to Ellen Hooper, just when all her love affairs will be coming on!
It was just a jolly row, that's all I know." Sorell perceived that for some reason Radowitz was not going to tell him the story. But he was confident that Douglas Falloden had been at the bottom of it, and he felt a fierce indignation. He had however to keep it to himself, as it was clear that questions excited and annoyed the patient. He sat by the boy a little, observing him.
"Such a ridiculous pretence, those Greek lessons!" she said, her small face flaming. "Nora says, after they have done a few lines, Constance begins to talk, and Mr. Sorell throws himself back in his chair, and they chatter about the places they've seen together, and the people they remember, till there's no more time left. Nora says it's a farce."
Behind them, dim figures in the twilight, followed Mrs. Hooper and Alice, with the two other ladies, their cavaliers having deserted them. "I am so glad you like Mr. Pryce," said Sorell suddenly. Constance looked at him in astonishment. "But why? I don't like him very much!" "Really?
All look of weakness had disappeared; he held himself erect; his shock of red-gold hair blazed in the firelight, and his eyes laughed, as he listened silently, playing with his cigarette. Sorell evidently was thinking only of him; but he too wore a look of quiet pleasure. Only Mrs. Mulholland sat watchful, her face turned towards the open door.
The man's aspect indeed was Greek, and ought only to have expressed the Greek blitheness, the Greek joy in life. But, in truth, it was a very modern and complex soul that breathed from both face and form. Constance had addressed him as "Mr. Sorell." He turned to walk with her to her door, talking eagerly.
Often, as they emerged from the Bodleian to go home to lunch, they would come across Sorell hurrying along the Broad, his master's gown floating behind him. And he would turn his fine ascetic face towards them, and wave his hand to them from the other side of the street. And Connie would flash a look at Nora, soft, quick, malicious of which Nora was well aware. But Connie rarely said a word.
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