y should men make ugliness and
endure squalor?

"I thought you knew me better," said Boreham, reproachfully, "than to
say that."

"If you do approve of originality," said May, "then why not let Oxford
work out its own evolution, in its own way?"

"It needs entire reconstruction," said Boreham, stubbornly.

"You would like to pass everything through a mill and turn it out to a
pattern," said May. "But that's not the way the world progresses. Entire
reconstruction would spoil Oxford. What it wants is what we all
want--the pruning of our vices and the development of our virtues. We
don't want to be shorn of all that makes up our personality."

Boreham said, "That is a different matter; but why should we argue?"

"To leave Oxford and speak of ourselves, of you and me," said May,
persisting. "You don't want to be made like me; but we both want to have
the selfishness squeezed out of us. There! I warn you that, having once
started, I shall probably go on lamenting like the prophet Jeremiah
until I reach the Lodgings! So if you want to escape, do find some
pressing engagement. I shan't be offended in the very least."

How she longed for him to go! But was he capable of discovering this
even when it was broadly hinted?

Boreham's beard moved irritably. The word "selfish" stung him. There was
no such thing as being "unselfish"--one man wanted one thing, another
man wanted another--and there you are!

"Human nature is selfish," he retorted. "Saints are selfish. They want
to have a good time in the next world. Each man always wants to please
himself, only tastes differ."

Boreham spoke in emphatic tones. If May was thinking of her husband,
then this piece of truth must be put before her without delay. War
widows had the habit of speaking of their husbands as heroes, when all
they had done was to have got themselves blown to pieces while they were
trying to blow other people to pieces.

"You make questions of taste very important," said May, looking down the
misty street. "Some men have a taste for virtue and generosity, and
others have taste for vice and meanness."

Boreham looked at her features closely in the dim light.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked.

"Not at all," said May. "We are arguing about words. You object to the
use of the word 'selfish,' so I adopt your term 'taste.'"

"There's no reason why we should argue just now," said Boreham. "Not
that argument affects friendship! Friendship goes behind all