lk to the three
of them at once. I think you'd better talk about wine to the governor.
It'll buck him rather to think his port has been appreciated. Tell him
how screwed we made the bobby that night when we were climbing in late
from that binge on the Cher, and let down glass after glass of the
governor's port from Tommy's rooms in Parsons' Quad."

Michael promised to do his best to entertain the father, and without
fail to support the son at the ceremony of meeting his people next
morning.

"I say, you've come frightfully early," Lonsdale exclaimed, as Lord and
Lady Cleveden with his sister Sylvia alighted from the train.

"Well, we can walk round my old college," suggested Lord Cleveden
cheerfully. "I scarcely ever have an opportunity to get up to Oxford
nowadays."

"I say, I'm awfully sorry to let you in for this," Lonsdale whispered to
Michael. "Don't encourage the governor to do too much buzzing around at
the House. Tell him the mayonnaise is getting cold or something."

Soon they arrived at Christ Church, and Michael rather enjoyed walking
round with Lord Cleveden and listening to his stately anecdotes of
bygone adventure in these majestic quadrangles.

"I wonder if Lord Saxby was up in your time?" asked Michael as they
stood in Peckwater.

"Yes, knew him well. In fact, he was a connection of mine. Poor chap, he
died in South Africa. Where did you meet him? He never went about much."

"Oh, I met him with a chap called Prescott," said Michael hurriedly.

"Dick Prescott? Good gracious!" Lord Cleveden exclaimed, "I haven't seen
him for years. What an extraordinary mess poor Saxby made of his life,
to be sure."

"Did he?" asked Michael, well aware of the question's folly, but
incapable of not asking it.

"Terrible! Terrible! But it was never a public scandal."

"Oh," gulped Michael humbly, wishful he had never asked Lord Cleveden
about his father.

"I can't remember whether my old rooms were on that staircase or this
one. Saxby's I think were on this, but mine surely were on that one.
Let's go up and ask the present owner to let us look in," Lord Cleveden
proposed, peering the while in amiable doubt at the two staircases.

"Oh, no, I say, father, really, no, no," protested his son. "No, no; he
may have people with him. Really."

"Ah, to be sure," Lord Cleveden agreed. "What a pity!"

"And I think we ought to buzz round St. Mary's before lunch," Lonsdale
announced.

"Do they make meringues here no