r the
short journey. Indeed, all the way they lay on the rack unregarded,
while the train crossed and recrossed the silver Thames. At first he was
often conscious of the other undergraduates in the compartment, who
seemed to be eying him with a puzzled contempt; but very soon, when he
perceived that this manner of looking at one's neighbor was general, he
became reconciled to the attitude and ascribed it to a habit of mind
rather than to the expression of any individual distaste. Then suddenly,
as Michael was gazing out of the window, the pearly sky broke into
spires and pinnacles and domes and towers. He caught his breath for one
bewitched moment, before he busied himself with the luggage on the rack.

On the platform Michael and Alan decided to part company, as neither of
them felt sure enough whether St. Mary's or Christ Church were nearer to
the station to risk a joint hansom.

"Shall I come and see you this afternoon?" Michael rashly offered.

"Oh, rather," Alan agreed, and they turned away from one another to
secure their cabs.

All the time that Michael was driving to St. Mary's, he was regretting
he had not urged Alan to visit him first. A growing sensation of shy
dread was making him vow that once safe in his own rooms at St. Mary's
nothing should drag him forth again that day. What on earth would he say
when he arrived at the college? Would he have to announce himself? How
would he find his rooms? On these points he had pestered several Old
Jacobeans now at Oxford, but none of them could remember the precise
ceremonies of arrival. Michael leaned back in the hansom and cursed
their inefficient memories.

Then the cab pulled up by the St. Mary's lodge, and events proceeded
with unexpected rapidity. A cheerful man with red hair and a round face
welcomed his luggage. The cabman was paid the double of his correct
fare, and to Michael's relief drove off instantly. From a sort of glass
case that filled half the interior of the lodge somebody very much like
a family butler inquired richly who Michael was.

"Mr. C. M. S. Fane?" rolled out the unctuous man.

Michael nodded.

"Is there another Fane?" he asked curiously.

"No, sir," said the head porter, and the negative came out with the
sound of a drawn cork. "No, sir, but I wished to hessateen if I had your
initials down correct in my list. Mr. C. M. S. Fane," he went on,
looking at a piece of paper. "St. Cuthbert's. Four. Two pair right. Your
servant is Por