They were eyes that looked as though they held in their depths the
possibility of tenderness. He walked as an athlete, there was no spare
flesh about him anywhere, and in his carriage there was a dignity that
had in it pride of birth, complete self-possession, and above all,
contempt for his fellow-creatures.

He despised all the world save only his father. He had gone through
his school-life and was now passing through his college-life as a man
travels through a country that has for him no interest and no worth but
that may lead, once it has been traversed, to something of importance
and adventure. He was now at the beginning of his second year at
Cambridge and was regarded by every one with distrust, admiration,
excitement. His was one of the more interesting personalities at that
time in residence at Saul's.

He had come with a historical scholarship and a great reputation as a
Three-quarter from Rugby. He was considered to be a certain First Class
and a certain Rugby Blue; he, lazily and indifferently during the course
of his first term, discouraged both these anticipations. He attended
no lectures, received a Third Class in his May examinations, and was
deprived of his scholarship at the end of his first year. He played
brilliantly in the Freshmen's Rugby match, but so indolently in the
first University match of the season that he was not invited again. Had
he played merely badly he would have been given a second trial, but
his superior insolence was considered insulting. He never played in
any College matches nor did he trouble to watch any of their glorious
conflicts. Once and again he produced an Essay for his Tutor that
astonished that gentleman very considerably, but when called before the
Dean for neglecting to attend lectures explained that he was studying
the Later Roman Empire and could not possibly attend to more than one
thing at a time.

He was perfectly friendly to every one, and it was curious that, with
his air of contempt for the world in general, he had made no enemies. He
wondered at that himself, on occasions; he had always been supposed, for
instance, to be very good friends with Carfax. He had, of course, always
hated Carfax--and now Carfax was dead.

The little crooked path soon left the dark wood and merged into the long
white Cambridge road. The flat country was veiled in mist, only, like
a lantern above a stone wall, the sun was red over the lower veils of
white that rose from the sodd