be sure, he was in the spiritual company of Charles
Lamb, and of many another man of brains who has waited under the lamp.
But contact with the pittites of Kingsmill offended his instincts; he
resented this appearance of inferiority to people who came at their
leisure, and took seats in the better parts of the house. When a
neighbour addressed him with a meaningless joke which defied grammar,
he tried to grin a friendly answer, but inwardly shrank. The events of
the day had increased his sensibility to such impressions. Had he
triumphed over Bruno Chilvers, he could have behaved this evening with
a larger humanity.

The fight for entrance--honest British stupidity, crushing ribs and
rending garments in preference to seemly order of progress--enlivened
him somewhat, and sent him laughing to his conquered place; but before
the curtain rose he was again depressed by the sight of a familiar
figure in the stalls, a fellow-student who sat there with mother and
sister, black-uniformed, looking very much a gentleman. 'I, of course,
am not a gentleman,' he said to himself, gloomily. Was there any chance
that he might some day take his ease in that orthodox fashion? Inasmuch
as it was conventionality, he scorned it; but the privileges which it
represented had strong control of his imagination. That lady and her
daughter would follow the play with intelligence. To exchange comments
with them would be a keen delight. As for him--he had a shop-boy on one
hand and a grocer's wife on the other.

By the end he had fallen into fatigue. Amid clamour of easily-won
applause he made his way into the street, to find himself in a heavy
downpour of rain. Having no umbrella, he looked about for a sheltered
station, and the glare of a neighbouring public-house caught his eye;
he was thirsty, and might as well refresh body and spirit with a glass
of beer, an unwonted indulgence which had the pleasant semblance of
dissipation. Arrived at the bar he came upon two acquaintances, who, to
judge by their flushed cheeks and excited voices, had been celebrating
jovially the close of their academic labours. They hailed him.

'Hollo, Peak! Come and help us to get sober before bedtime!'

They were not exactly studious youths, but neither did they belong to
the class that Godwin despised, and he had a comrade-like feeling for
them. In a few minutes his demeanour was wholly changed. A glass of hot
whisky acted promptly upon his nervous system, enabled him