He drew himself up, and as he passed on with Constance he flung a look of mingled triumph and defiance at the group of "bloods" standing together, at Falloden in particular.
Falloden had not danced once with her, had not been allowed once to touch her white hand.

It was he, Radowitz, who had carried her off--whom she had chosen--whom she had honoured.

The boy's heart swelled with joy and pride; the artist in him, of another race than ours, realising and sharpening the situation, beyond the English measure.
And, afterwards, he danced with her again--many times.

Moreover with him and an escort of his friends--for in general the young Pole with his musical gift and his romantic temperament was popular in Oxford--Constance made the round of the illuminated river-walks and the gleaming cloisters, moving like a goddess among the bevy of youths who hung upon her smiles.

The intoxication of it banished thought and silenced regret.
But it was plain to all the world, no less than to Mrs.Hooper, that Falloden of Marmion, who had seemed to be in possession of her the night before, had been brusquely banished from her side; that Oxford's charming newcomer had put her supposed suitor to open contumely; and that young Radowitz reigned in his stead.
* * * * * Radowitz walked home in a whirl of sensations and recollections that made of the Oxford streets an "insubstantial fairy place," where only Constance lived.
He entered Marmion about four o'clock in a pearly light of dawn.
Impossible to go to bed or to sleep! He would change his clothes, go out for a bathe, and walk up into the Cumnor hills.
In the quadrangle he passed a group of men in evening dress returned like himself from the ball.