Avis Marlowe and Jess Howard had hardly spoken to her, and, though the omission was probably owing to sheer lack of time or opportunity, she chose to set it down to a desire to show her the cold shoulder.
"Now I have no parties to offer them, they don't care about me!" she thought bitterly.

"They'll hunt about till they find somebody else who's likely to act entertainer." Fortunately, as Ingred stepped out of the College on that first Friday afternoon, the fresh breeze and the bright September sunshine blew away the cobwebs, and sent her almost dancing down the street.

She had a naturally buoyant disposition, and her uppermost thought was: "I'm going home! I'm going home! Hurrah!" The journey was really quite a little business.

She had to take a tram to the Waterstoke terminus, then change on to a light electric railway that ran along the roadside for seven miles to Wynch-on-the-Wold.
Grovebury, an old town that dated back to mediaeval times, lay in a deep hollow among a rampart of hills, so that, in whatever direction you left it, you were obliged to climb.

The scenery was very beautiful, for trees edged the river, and clothed the slopes till they gave way to the gorse and heather of the wild moorlands.