round the table,
and then relapsed into talk that was inaudible except to his fair
neighbour.

Gwendolen Scott watched the table silently, and wondered how it was they
found so much to talk about. Harding did not intend to waste any time in
talking to an Oxford person. He put his elbow on the table on her side
and conversed with Mrs. Potten. He professed interest in her
agricultural pursuits, told her that he liked digging in the rain, and
by the time lunch was over he had solemnly emphasised his opinion that
the cricket bat and the shot gun and the covert and the moderate party
in the Church of England were what made our Empire great. Mrs. Potten
approved these remarks, and said that she was surprised and pleased to
hear such sound views expressed by any one from Oxford. She was afraid
that very wild and democratic views were not only tolerated, but born
and bred in Oxford. She was afraid that Oxford wasn't doing poor, dear,
clever Bernard any good, though she was convinced that the "dear
Warden" would not tolerate any foolishness, and she was on the point of
rising when her movements were delayed by the shock of hearing Mr.
Bingham suddenly guffaw with extraordinary suavity and gentleness.

She turned to him questioningly.

"It depends upon what you mean by democratic," he said, smiling softly
past Mrs. Potten and on to Harding. "The United States of America, which
makes a point of talking the higher twaddle about all men being free and
equal, can barely manage to bring any wealthy pot to justice. On the
other hand, Oxford, which is slimed with Toryism, is always ready to
make any son of any impecunious greengrocer the head of one's college.
In Oxford, even at Christ Church"--and here Bingham showed two rows of
good teeth at Harding,--"you may say what you like now. Oxford now
swarms with political Humanitarians, who go about sticking their
stomachs out and pretending to be inspired! Now, what do you mean by
Democratic?"

Mrs. Potten would have been shocked, but Bingham's mellifluous voice
gave a "cachet" to his language. She looked nervously at Boreham; seeing
that he had caught the talk and was about to plunge into it, she
signified "escape" to Lady Dashwood and rose herself.

"We will leave you men to quarrel together," she said to Harding. "You
give it to them, Mr. Harding. Don't you spare 'em," and she passed to
the door.

For a moment the three men who were left behind in the dining-room
glanced at each