thoughts. I knew one such man myself. Those who believe in ghosts may
come upon the shades of these men in the passages and in the cloisters
at night, or hiding in the dark recesses of our college windows. Why, I
can feel them everywhere--and yet I don't believe in ghosts." The Warden
placed his elbows upon the table and rested his chin upon his hands, and
looked down at the table-cloth.

May said nothing; she was listening, her face bent but expressive even
to her eyebrows.

"Neither do I," said Bingham, in an altered voice. "I don't believe in
ghosts, and yet, what do we know of this world? We talk of it glibly.
But what do we know of the forces which make up the phantasmagoria that
we call the World? What do we know of this vast universe? We perceive
something of it by touch, by sight, sound and smell. These are the doors
through which its forces penetrate the brain of man. These doors are our
way of 'being aware' of life. The psychology of man is in its infancy.
And remember"--here Bingham leaned over the table and rested his eyes on
May--"it is man studying himself! That makes the difficulty!" Bingham
was serious now, and he had slipped from slang into the academic form in
which his thoughts really moved.

"And we don't even know whether our ways of perceiving are the only
ways," said the Warden.

"Anyhow," said Bingham, turning to him, "the ghosts you 'feel,' and
which you and I don't believe in, belong to the old Oxford, the Oxford
which is gone."

There came a sudden silence in the long room, and May felt that she
ought to make a move. She looked at the Warden.

"That Oxford," continued Bingham, "is gone for ever. It began to go when
men hedged it round with red brick, and went to live under red-tiled
roofs with wives and children."

"Yes, it has gone," said the Warden. "Must you leave us!" he asked,
rising, as May looked at him and made a movement to rise.

Bingham rose to his feet, but he stood with his hand holding the foot
of his glass and gazing into its crimson depths.

"Pardon, Middleton! Mrs. Dashwood, one moment," he said, and he raised
his glass solemnly till it was almost on a level with his dark face.
"Will you pledge me?" he asked. "To the old Oxford that is past and
gone!"

The Warden and May were both drinking water. They raised their glasses
and touched Bingham's wine which glowed in the light from above, almost
suggesting something sacramental. And Bingham himself looked like a
sm