espised from the mere woman's point of view.

Boreham peered eagerly at his companion's profile to see how she took
this criticism of Middleton.

May was taking it quite calmly, and even smiled. "So far, good," said
Boreham to himself, and he went on to compare his larger view of life
and deeper knowledge of "facts" with the restricted outlook of the
Oxford Don. This she apparently accepted as "understood," for she smiled
again, and this triumph of Boreham's was achieved while they looked over
the Christ Church library.

"The first thing," said Boreham, when they came again into the open
air--"the first thing that a man has to do is to be a man of the world
that we actually live in, not of the world as it was!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Dashwood "the world we actually live in."

"You agree?" he said brightly.

She smiled again.

"Oxford might have been vitalised; might, I say, if, by good luck,
somebody had discovered a coal mine under the Broad, or the High, and
the University had been compelled to adjust itself to the practical
requirements of the world of labour and of commerce, and to drop its
mediaeval methods for those of the modern world."

May confessed that she had not thought of this way of improving the
ancient University, but she suggested that some of the provincial
universities had the advantage of being in the neighbourhood of coal
mines or in industrial centres.

Boreham, however, waived the point, for his spirits were rising, and the
sight of Bingham in the distance, carrying his table-cloth and slippers
and looking wistfully at nothing in particular, gave him increased
confidence in his main plan.

"This staircase," said Boreham, "leads to the hall. Shall we go in? I
suppose you ought to see it."

"What a lovely roof!" exclaimed May, when they reached the foot of the
staircase.

Boreham admitted that it was fine, but he insisted that it was too good
for the place, and he went on with his main discourse.

When they entered the dining-hall, the dignity of the room, with its
noble ceiling, its rich windows and the glow of the portraits on the
walls, brought another exclamation from May's lips.

But all this academic splendour annoyed Boreham extremely. It seemed to
jeer at him as an outsider.

"It's too good for the collection of asses who dine here," he said.

As to the portraits, he insisted that among them all, among all these
so-called distinguished men, there was not one that possessed an