Dew on the grass, and all that, was for youth: shining resplendent youth and they could have it. As the clamour died into a complaining whimper and then into silence, she turned over to face the wall, burrowing happily into her pillow. When a bell rang in Miss Pym's life now it was because she had put a delicately varnished finger-tip on the bell-push. Once upon a time she too had lived a life regulated by bells, but that was long ago. I shall see you in the morning but had not seen fit to mention half-past-five bells. The students enjoyed your lecture, my dear. Henrietta had said last night, standing large and majestical in the doorway: Sleep well. Yes, it certainly was early the world had that unmoving just-an-apparition look of early morning. She squinted round her pillow at the garden which was visible from the window behind her bed. No, really, did any college, however physical and hearty, begin the day at half-past five! Anything was possible, of course, in a community which had use for neither bedside tables nor bedside lamps, but-half-past five! She put the watch to her small pink ear. Miss Pym stopped breathing and stared in unbelieving fascination. She turned on her back with a sigh of relief, holding the watch triumphantly above her. If she dropped it now she would have to get out of bed and crawl under for it. Carefully she brought it up, lightly caught between the tips of first and second fingers. By lying flat on her front and inserting an arm she could just reach it. Yes, there was something that looked like a watch. She dropped the pillow and peered down between the bed and the wall. But it must be there! She lifted the pillow bodily, revealing only one small sheer-linen handkerchief in a saucy pattern of blue-and-white. There seemed to be no watch under the pillow. Good heavens, what a row that bell was making! Obscene. Her watch had had of necessity to be put under her pillow. There was no bedside table as she had found last night. There seemed to be no bedside table either. Little Miss Pym stirred, opened one doubtful grey eye, and reached blindly for her watch. From each of the yawning windows of the little quadrangle the noise poured out on to the still, sunlit garden where the grass was grey yet with dew. Through the quiet corridors came the din of it, making hideous the peace of the morning.
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