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Updated: June 9, 2025
The old and famous city, that had seen so much youth bloom and pass, spoke magic things to her with its wise, friendly voice. Aloud, she said "You haven't heard? Mr. Falloden's going to live with him." Nora stopped in stupefaction. "What?" Connie repeated the information adding "I dare say Mr. Sorell didn't speak of it to you, because he hates it."
She could not recall Falloden's face and voice on their last walk without realising that she had hit him recklessly hard, and that her conduct to him had been one of the causes of the Marmion tragedy. She was haunted by these thoughts, and miserable for lack of some comforting, guiding, and if possible absolving voice.
Queer, isn't it?" "My dear Otto!" cried Sorell, in dismay. "What on earth do you mean?" "Well, he offered it said he'd come and look after me. I don't know what possessed him nor me either. I didn't exactly accept, but I shall accept. Why shouldn't I?" "Because Falloden's the last person in the world to look after anybody least of all, you!" said Sorell with indignant energy.
And all the more, perhaps, because in Falloden's manner towards her there was nothing left of the lover. For the moment at any rate she preferred it so. Life was all doubt, expectation, thrill its colour heightened, its meanings underlined. And in her complete uncertainty as to what turn it would take, and how the doubt would end, lay the spell the potent tormenting charm of the situation.
The next moment she was in Falloden's arms, strained against his breast everything else lost and forgotten, as their lips met, in the just selfishness of passion. Then he released her, stepping back from her, his strong face quivering. "I was a mean wretch to let you do that!" he said, with energy. She eyed him. "Why?"
Nora laughed, threw him a friendly nod, and vanished up the steps of the Bodleian. But Falloden's hour came! The Encænia went off magnificently. Connie, sitting beside Mrs.
He gave Falloden a short, embarrassed greeting, and then subsided into the chair that Constance offered him. The thought crossed Falloden's mind "Did she arrange this?" Her face gave little clue though she could not restrain one quick, hesitating glance at Falloden.
"I think the sooner it is over the better," said Sorell, with rather stern decision. "Falloden ought never to have made the proposal, and it was mere caprice in Otto to accept it. But you know what I think. I shall watch the whole thing very anxiously; and try to have some one ready to put into Falloden's place when it breaks down. Mrs. Mulholland and I have it in hand.
And Connie did it, broadly speaking, during the week of Falloden's schools. Sorell himself was busy every day and all day as one of the Greats examiners. He scarcely saw her for more than two half-hours during a hideously strenuous week, through which he sat immersed in the logic and philosophy papers of the disappearing generation of Honour men.
Sorell sat on impatiently in the darkening garden, hoping always that Connie would explain, would confess; for he was certain that she had somehow schemed for this preposterous reconciliation if it was a reconciliation. She wanted no doubt to heal Falloden's conscience, and so to comfort her own. And she would sacrifice Otto, if need be, in the process!
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