Several times in the following days Foley met his friend again--indeed,
they two just then seemed almost alone together in Oxford--and more than
once, in the long summer afternoons, they walked together in a desultory
way among the vacant streets and empty Colleges. Sutton was even more
reserved than of old, but there was a charm in his silent company and in
his affectionate, scrupulous knowledge of the place. Each of the
churches, dim College chapels, and libraries was dear and familiar to
him now; he had found remnants of Norman architecture, and little early
Gothic windows in obscure old places which Foley, who had thought he
knew Oxford so well, was forced to admit he had never visited. And even
for the despised classicism, Sutton seemed to have a certain fondness,
for everything that bore the stately quaint mark of the Stuart
times--Laud's quadrangle at St. John's, and its Italian-looking busts
and arches; the chapel at Trinity; the little Ashmolean museum, and the
prim old Botanic garden, with its battered statue of Charles I. over the
gate, the half neglected formality of its urns and fountain, its walls
and walks within.
Then the old names of places seemed all to have a meaning for him. He
could trace the remains of the Religious Houses, the Friars Minor, the
Friar Preachers, the Carmelites, after which some of the more ancient
streets are called; showing Foley the gateways or ruined arches, bits
of College buildings which now alone remain of their former stately
precincts. And on their walks together Sutton often chose by preference
the little back streets, or those ancient footpaths that wind through
the old heart of the city, through the mediaeval town whose gables and
walls and gardens still sleep in the sun, almost untouched, behind the
modern fronts and the traffic of many of the busy streets.
To Foley in his sentimental mood just then, the quiet of Oxford was very
pleasant, after the noise of the London season; and there seemed to be
something almost poetic in the life of this solitary student. How wise
he was after all, Foley thought, to stay there among the old colleges
and churches, where the ambitions and obligations of the world could
scarcely trouble him; nor the noise of its busy life break in on his
tranquil moods, or disturb the old memories he loved. And yet a vague
suspicion crossing his mind, once or twice, made him ask himself, was
Sutton really so happy after all?