he was that evening.  Mr. Sandys was thirsting for experience and research, and he was also in a state of jubilant sentimentality about Cambridge and his old recollections.  He told stories of the most unemphatic kind in the most emphatic way, and Howard was amused at the radiant hues with which the lapse of time had touched the very simplest incidents of his career.  Mr. Sandys had been, it seemed, a terrible customer at Cambridge—­disobedient, daring, incisive, the hero of his contemporaries, the dread of the authorities; but all this on high-minded lines.  Moreover, he had brought with him a note-book of queries, to be settled in the Library; while he had looked up in the list of residents everyone with whom he had been in the remotest degree acquainted, and a long vista of calls opened out before him.  It was a very delightful evening to Howard, in spite of everything, simply because Maud was there; and he found himself extraordinarily conscious of her presence, observant of all she said and did, glad that her eyes should rest upon his familiar setting; and when they sat afterwards in his study and smoked, he saw that her eyes travelled with a curious intentness over everything—­his books, his papers, his furniture.  He had no private talk with her; but he was glad just to meet her glance and hear her low replies—­glad too to find that, as the evening wore on, she seemed less distraite and tired.

They went off early, Mr. Sandys pleading fatigue for Maud, and the necessity for himself of a good night’s rest, that he might ride forth on the following day conquering and to conquer.

The next day they lunched with Jack.  When Howard came into the room he was not surprised to find that two undergraduates had been asked—­Jack’s chief allies.  One was a big, good-humoured young man, who was very shy and silent; the other was one Fred Guthrie, who was one of the nicest men in the College; he was a Winchester boy, son of a baronet, a Member of Parliament, wealthy and distinguished.  Guthrie had a large allowance, belonged to all the best clubs, played cricket with the chance of a blue ahead of him, and had, moreover, a real social gift.  He had a quite unembarrassed manner and, what is rare in a young man, a strong sense of humour.  He was a prominent member of the A. D. C., and had a really artistic gift of mimicry; but there was no touch of forwardness or conceit about him.  He had been in for some examination or other; and when Howard came in he was describing his experiences.  “What sort of questions?” he was saying.  “Oh, you know the kind—­an awful quotation, followed by the question, ’Who said this, and under what circumstances, and why did they let him?’” He made himself entirely at home, he talked to Mr. Sandys as if he were welcoming an old family friend, and he was evidently much attracted by Maud, who found it remarkably easy to talk to this pleasant and straightforward boy.  He described with much liveliness an interview