The only person who was moved by Edward Adrian’s incursion into the College world was Madame Lefevre. Madame, as the representative of the theatre world in College, evidently felt that her own share in this visit should have been a larger one. She also gave Miss Lux to understand that she had, in the first place, no right to know Edward Adrian, but that, in the second place, having known him she had no right to keep him to herself. She was comforted by the knowledge that on Friday she would see him in person, and be able to talk to him in his own language, so to speak. He must have felt greatly at sea, she gave them to understand, among the aborigines of Leys Physical Training College.

Lucy, listening to her barbed silkinesses at lunch on Thursday, hoped that she would not ingratiate herself sufficiently with Adrian to be included in the supper party; she was looking forward to Friday night, and she most certainly would not look forward any more if Madame was going to be watching her all evening with those eyes of hers. Perhaps Miss Lux would put a spoke in her wheel in time. It was not Miss Lux’s habit to put up with something that was not to her mind.

Still thinking of Madame and Miss Lux and tomorrow night, she turned her eyes absently on the students, and saw Innes’s face. And her heart stopped.

It was three days, she supposed, since she had seen Innes for more than a moment in passing; but could three days have done this to a young girl’s face? She stared, trying to decide where the change actually lay. Innes was thinner, and very pale, certainly, but it was not that. It was not even the shadows under her eyes and the small hollow at the temple. Not even the expression; she was eating her lunch with her eyes on the plate in apparent calm. And yet the face shocked Lucy. She wondered if the others saw; she wondered that no one had mentioned it. The thing was as subtle and as obvious as the expression on the face of the Mona Lisa; as indefinable and as impossible to ignore.

So that is what it is to “burn up inside,” she thought. “It is bad to burn up inside,” Beau had said. Verily it must be bad if it ravaged a face like that. How could a face be at the same time calm and — and look like that? How, if it came to that, could one have birds tearing at one’s vitals and still keep that calm face?

Her glance went to Beau, at the head of the nearer table, and she caught Beau’s anxious look at Innes.

“I hope you gave Mr Adrian an invitation card?” Miss Hodge said to Lux.

“No,” said Lux, bored with the subject of Adrian.

“And I hope you have told Miss Joliffe that there will be one more for tea.”

“He doesn’t eat at tea-time, so I didn’t bother.”

Oh, stop talking little sillinesses, Lucy wanted to say, and look at Innes. What is happening to her? Look at the girl who was so radiant only last Saturday afternoon. Look at her. What does she remind you of? Sitting there so calm and beautiful and all wrong inside. What does she remind you of? One of those brilliant things that grow in the woods, isn’t it? One of those apparently perfect things that collapse into dust at a touch because they are hollow inside.

“Innes is not looking well,” she said in careful understatement to Lux as they went upstairs.

“She is looking very ill,” Lux said bluntly. “And would you wonder?”

“Isn’t there something one can do about it?” Lucy asked.

“One could find her the kind of post she deserves,” Lux said dryly. “As there is no post available at all, that doesn’t seem likely to materialise.”

“You mean that she will just have to begin to answer advertisements?”

“Yes. It is only a fortnight to the end of term, and there are not likely to be any more posts in Miss Hodge’s gift now. Most places for September are filled by this time. The final irony, isn’t it? That the most brilliant student we have had for years is reduced to application-in-own-handwriting-with-five-copies-of-testimonials-not-returnable.”

It was damnable, Lucy thought; quite damnable.

“She was offered a post, so that lets Miss Hodge out.”

“But it was a medical one, and she doesn’t want that,” Lucy said.

“Oh, yes, yes! you don’t have to convert me; I’m enlisted already.”

Lucy thought of tomorrow, when the parents would come and radiant daughters would show them round, full of the years they had spent here and the new achievement that was theirs. How Innes must have looked forward to that; looked forward to seeing the two people who loved her so well and who had by care and deprivation managed to give her the training she wanted; looked forward to putting Arlinghurst in their laps.

It was bad enough to be a leaving student without a post, but that was a matter susceptible to remedy. What could never be remedied was the injustice of it. It was Lucy’s private opinion that injustice was harder to bear than almost any other inflicted ill. She could remember yet the surprised hurt, the helpless rage, the despair that used to consume her when she was young and the victim of an injustice. It was the helpless rage that was worst; it consumed one like a slow fire. There was no outlet, because there was nothing one could do about it. A very destructive emotion indeed. Lucy supposed that she had been like Innes, and lacked a sense of humour. But did the young ever have the detachment necessary for a proper focusing of their own griefs? Of course not. It was not people of forty who went upstairs and hanged themselves because someone had said a wrong word to them at the wrong moment, it was adolescents of fourteen.

Lucy thought she knew the passion of rage and disappointment and hate that was eating Innes up. It was enormously to her credit that she had taken the shock with outward dignity.............