ut you're turning into a machine. Since you've swotted up into
the Upper Sixth, you've turned into a very good imitation of the prigs
you associate with. Everybody isn't like you. Some people develop.... I
could have been just like you if I had cared to be. I could have been
Captain of the School and Scholar of Balliol with my nose ground down to
[Greek: ei] and [Greek: ean], hammering out tenth-rate Latin
lyrics and reading Theocritus with the amusing parts left out. But
what's the good of arguing with you? You're perfectly content and you
think you can be as priggish as you like, as long as you conceal it by
making fifty runs in the Dulford match. I suppose you consider my
behaviour unwholesome at eighteen. Well, I dare say it is by your
standards. But are your standards worth anything? I doubt it. I think
they're fine up to a point. I'm perfectly willing to admit that we
behaved like a pair of little blighters with those girls at Eastbourne.
But this is something altogether different."

"We shall see," said Alan simply. "I'm not going to quarrel with you. So
shut up."

Michael walked along in silence, angry with himself for having caused
this ill-feeling by his obstinacy in making an unsuitable introduction,
and angry with Alan because he would accentuate by his attitude the
mistake.

By the steps of his house Michael stopped and looked at Alan severely.

"This is the last time I shall attempt to cure you," he announced.

"All right," said Alan with perfect equanimity. "You can do anything you
like but quarrel. You needn't talk to me or look at me or think about me
until you want to. I shall feel a bit bored, of course, but, oh, my dear
old chap, do get over this love-sickness soon."

"This isn't like that silly affair at Bournemouth last Easter," Michael
challenged.

"I know that, my dear chap. I wish it was."

With the subject of love finally sealed between him and Alan, Michael
receded farther and farther from the world of school. He condescended
indeed to occupy a distinguished position by the hot-water pipes of the
entrance-hall, where his aloofness and ability to judge men and gods
made him a popular, if slightly incomprehensible, figure. Towards all
the masters he emanated a compassion which he really felt very deeply.
Those whom he liked he conversed with as equals; those whom he disliked
he talked to as inferiors. But he pitied both sections. In class he was
polite, but somewhat remote, though he mi