would have been in no way lightened.

The lawyer allowed the machine to run more slowly, that its jar and
noise might not drown his voice.

"Your friend with the comet-coloured hair," he began, "will never fit
into the life of St. George's Hall. I can see he has n't the true Hall
traditions or spirit."

She was apparently more interested in his views than inclined to
express her own. If she reflected at all upon the speaker's lack of
that physical distinction which he selected in Leigh for the exercise
of his wit, and if she derived some enjoyment from an understanding of
his resentment, she kept it to herself.

"What makes you think so?" she asked serenely. "What was he doing with
that Tom Emmet up there?" he demanded, by way of answer. "In my day,
the professors of the Hall were more select in the company they kept."

"Times have changed since then," she commented, "and the world has
grown democratic."

He suspected her mood of mockery, but his intelligence could not hold
his spleen in check.

"Yes," he went on malevolently, "I suppose it has; and soon we shall
have a lot of muckers in the college instead of the gentlemen that used
to go there in my day. So that's the prize poor old Renshaw drew from
the Western grab-bag! It's too bad your father was away."

"Is n't it?" she assented. "But then, you know, he is here on a year's
appointment, and perhaps he will leave in the spring."

"I can't understand," he resumed, "how he came to know Tom Emmet, of
all men, in this short time, and how he happened to have him up there
on the tower."

As she seemed unable to throw any light upon this mystery, he was left
to grapple with it alone.

CHAPTER VIII

"WHAT MAKES HER IN THE WOOD SO LATE?"

The City Hall in Warwick was a three-storied brick building of
dignified Colonial style, built during Washington's first
administration. The foundations had settled somewhat, as more than one
crack, zig-zagging upward from window to window, bore witness; and many
an iron clamp had stained the walls, suggesting to the sentimental mind
that the old building was weeping rusty tears over the degeneracy of
the times. However, the Hall was only in the first stages of an old
age that might be described as green, for the huge beams were sound to
the core, and the figure of a Roman lady still stood firmly upon the
cupola, extending with one chubby arm the impartial scales of Justice.

About a block to the south, and