“I hope not,” said Harriet.

“No, we were all on our own,” explained the young man, eagerly. “Nobody else involved. Good Heavens, no. And, look here, I’ve bust my ankle and we shall be gated anyhow, and, dear, kind lady-”

At this moment, a loud groan resounded from within the College wall. The young man’s face became filled with agonized alarm.

“What’s that?” asked Harriet.

“I really couldn’t say,” said the young man.

His groan was repeated. Harriet grasped the undergraduate tightly by the arm and led him along to the postern.

“But look here,” said the gentleman, limping dolefully beside her, “you mustn’t-please don’t think-”

“I’m going to see what’s the matter,” said Harriet.

She unlocked the postern, drew her captive in with her, and relocked the gate. Under the wall, just beneath the spot where the young man had been perched, lay a huddled figure, which was apparently suffering acute internal agonies of some kind.

“Look here,” said the young man, abandoning all pretence, “I’m most frightfully sorry about this. I’m afraid we were a bit thoughtless. I mean we didn’t notice. I mean, I’m afraid she isn’t very well, and we didn’t notice how it was, you know.”

“The girl’s drunk,” said Harriet, uncompromisingly.

She had, in the bad old days, seen too many young poets similarly afflicted to make any mistake about the symptoms.

“Well, I’m afraid-yes, that’s about it,” said the young man. “ Rogers will mix ’em so strong. But look here, honestly, there’s no harm done, and I mean-”

“H’m!” said Harriet. “Well, don’t shout. That house is the Warden’s Lodgings.”

“Help,” said the young man, for the second time. “I say-are you going to be sporting?”

“That depends,” said Harriet. “As a matter of fact, you’ve been extraordinarily lucky. I’m not one of the dons. I’m only staying in College. So I’m a free agent.”

“Bless you!” exclaimed the young man, fervently.

“Don’t be in a hurry. You’ll have to tell me about this. Who’s the girl, by the way?”

The patient here gave another groan.

“Oh, dear!” said the undergraduate.

“Don’t worry,” said Harriet. “She’ll be sick in a minute.” She walked over and inspected the sufferer. “It’s all right. You can preserve a gentlemanly reticence. I know her. Her name’s Cattermole. What’s yours?”

“My name’s Pomfret-of Queen’s.”

“Ah!” said Harriet.

“We threw a party round in my friend’s rooms,” explained Mr. Pomfret. “At least it started as a meeting, but it ended as a party. Nothing wrong whatever. Miss Cattermole came along for a joke. All clean fun. Only there were a lot of us and what with one thing and another we had a few too many, and then we found Miss Cattermole was rather under the weather. So we got her collected up, and Rogers and I-”

“Yes, I see,” said Harriet. “Not very creditable, was it?”

“No, it’s rotten,” admitted Mr. Pomfret.

“Had she got leave to attend the meeting? And late leave?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Pomfret, disturbed. “I’m afraid-look here! Its all rather tiresome. I mean, she doesn’t belong to the Society-”

“What Society?”

“The Society that was meeting. I think she pushed in for a joke.”

“Gate-crashed you? H’m. That probably means no late leave.”

“Sounds serious,” said Mr. Pomfret.

“It’s serious for her,” said Harriet. “You’ll get off with a fine or a gating, I suppose; but we have to be more particular. It’s a nasty-minded world, and our rules have to remember that fact.”

“I know,” said Mr. Pomfret. “As a matter of fact we were dashed worried. We had a devil of a job getting her along,” he burst out confidentially. “Fortunately it was only from this end of Long Wall. Phew!”

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

“Anyhow,” he went on, “I’m thankful you aren’t a don.”

“That’s all very well,” said Harriet austerely; “but I’m a Senior Member of College and I must feel responsibility. This isn’t the kind of thing one wants.”

She turned a cold glance on the unfortunate Miss Cattermole, to whom the worst was happening.

“I’m sure we didn’t want it,” said Mr. Pomfret, averting his eyes; “but what could we do? It’s no good trying to corrupt your porter,” he added ingenuously; “it’s been tried.”

“Indeed?” said Harriet. “No; you wouldn’t get much change out of Padgett. Was anybody else there from Shrewsbury.”

“Yes-Miss Flaxman and Miss Blake. But they had ordinary leave to come and went off at about eleven. So they’re all right.”

“They ought to have taken Miss Cattermole with them.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Pomfret. He looked gloomier than ever. Obviously, thought Harriet, Miss Flaxman would not mind at all if Miss Cattermole got into trouble. Miss Blake’s motives were more obscure; but she was probably only weak-minded. Harriet was fired with a quite unscrupulous determination that Miss Cattermole should not get into trouble if she could prevent it. She went across to the limp form and hauled it to its’ feet. Miss Cattermole groaned dismally. “She’ll do now,” said Harriet. “I wonder where the little fool’s room is. Do you know?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I do,” replied Mr. Pomfret. “Sounds bad, but there-people do show people their rooms, you know, all regulations notwithstanding and all that. It’s somewhere over there, through that archway.”

He waved a vague hand towards the New Quad at the other end of nowhere.

“Heavens!” said Harriet, “it would be. I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a hand with her. She’s a bit too much for me, and she can’t stay here in the damp. If anybody sees us, you’ll have to go through with it. How’s the ankle?”

“Better, thanks,” said Mr. Pomfret. “I think I can make shift to stagger a bit. I say, you’re being very decent.”

“Get on with the job, said Harriet, grimly, ”and don’t waste time in speeches.”

Miss Cattermole was a thickly-built young woman, and no inconsiderable weight. She had also reached the stage of complete inertia. For Harriet, hampered by high-heeled shoes, and to Mr. Pomfret, afflicted with a game ankle, the progress across the quads was anything but triumphal. It was also rather noisy, what with the squeak of stone and gravel under their feet, and the grunts and shufflings of the limp figure between them. At every moment, Harriet expected to hear a window thrust up, or to see the shape of an agitated don come rushing out to demand some explanation of Mr. Pomfret’s presence at that early hour of the morning. It was with very great relief that she at last found the right doorway and propelled Miss Cattermole’s helpless form through it.

“What next?” inquired Mr. Pomfret in a hoarse whisper.

“I must let you out. I don’t know where her room is, but I can’t have you wandering all over College. Wait a minute. We’ll deposit her in the nearest bathroom. Here you are. Round the corner. Easy does it.”

Mr. Pomfret again bent obligingly to the task.

“There!” said Harriet. She laid Miss Cattermole on her back on the bathroom floor, took the key from the lock and came out, securing the door behind her. “She must stay there for the moment. Now we’ll get rid of you. I don’t think anybody saw us. If we’re met on the way back, you were at Mrs. Hemans’ dance and saw me home. Get that? It’s not very convincing, because you ought not to have done any such thing, but it’s better than the truth.”

“I only wish I had been at Mrs. Hemans’ dance,” said the grateful Mr. Pomfret. “I’d have danced every dance with you and all the extras. Do you mind telling me who you are?”

“My name’s Vane. And you’d better not start being enthusiastic too soon. I’m not considering your welfare particularly. Do you know Miss Cattermole well?”

“Rather well. Oh, yes. Naturally. I mean, we know some of the same people and that sort of thing. As a matter of fact, she used to be engaged to an old schoolfellow of mine- New College man-only that fell through and all that. No affair of mine; but you know how it is. One knows people and one kind of goes on knowing them. And there you are.”