Mrs Rimbolt was in a state of war with every one, Mrs Scarfe was poorly, the two Oxford visitors began to vote their visit slow, Scarfe was moody, Raby was unhappy, Jeffreys felt continually half-choked, Percy alone kept up his spirits, while Mr Rimbolt, happiest of all, went up North to look at his old books.
No one was particularly sorry when the visits came to an end.

Even the Sports and Boat Race had failed to revive the drooping spirits of the Oxonians, and on the Monday following it was with a considerable stretch of politeness that they all thanked Mrs Rimbolt for a very pleasant visit.
Scarfe, taking farewell of Raby, begged that some time, later on, he might come to see her again, but was quite unable to gather from her reply whether she desired it or not.

Jeffreys wisely kept out of the way while the departures were taking place, despite Mrs Rimbolt's suggestion that he should be sent for to help the cabman carry out the boxes.
The first evening after they were all gone the house seemed another place.

Even Jeffreys felt he could breathe, despite Mr Rimbolt's absence, and the hostile proximity of his lady.
As to Raby and Percy, they made no concealment of the relief they felt, and went off for a row on the river to celebrate the occasion.
Jeffreys judiciously excused himself from accompanying them, and went a long walk by himself.
Two days later, after lunch, just as Percy and Raby had departed for a ride in the park, and Jeffreys had shut himself up in Mr Rimbolt's study to write, a letter was delivered by the post addressed to Mrs Rimbolt, bearing the Oxford post-mark.

It was from Scarfe, and Mrs Rimbolt opened her eyes as she perused it:-- "Christchurch, _April_ 2." Dear Mrs Rimbolt,--I reached here from home this morning, and hasten to send you a line to thank you for the very pleasant visit I spent in London last week.