e who was credited by
all his friends with great gifts and a surprising amiability. After
breakfast she had captured one of the spectacled people, whose name was
Hoddam. He was a little shy man, one of the unassuming tribe of
students by whom all the minor intellectual work of the world is done,
and done well. It is a great class, living in the main in red-brick
villas on the outskirts of academic towns, marrying mild blue-stockings,
working incessantly, and finally attaining to the fame of mention in
prefaces and foot-notes, and a short paragraph in the _Times_ at the
last. . . . Mr. Hoddam did not seek the company of one who was young,
pretty, an heiress, and presumably flippant, but he was flattered when
she plainly sought him.

"Mr. Lewis Haystoun is coming here this afternoon," she had announced.
"Do you know him?"

"I have read his book," said her victim.

"Yes, but did you not know him at Oxford? You were there with him, were
you not?"

"Yes, we were there together. I knew him by sight, of course, for he
was a very well-known person. But, you see, we belonged to very
different sets."

"How do you mean?" asked the blunt Alice.

"Well, you see," began Mr. Hoddam awkwardly--absolute honesty was one
of his characteristics--"he was very well off, and he lived with a
sporting set, and he was very exclusive."

"But I thought he was clever--I thought he was rather brilliant?"

"Oh, he was! Indubitably! He got everything he wanted, but then he got
them easily and had a lot of time for other things, whereas most of us
had not a moment to spare. He got the best First of his year and the
St. Chad's Fellowship, but I think he cared far more about winning the
'Varsity Grind. Men who knew him said he was an extremely good fellow,
but he had scores of rich sporting friends, and nobody else ever got to
know him. I have heard him speak often, and his manner gave one the
impression that he was a tremendous swell, you know, and rather
conceited. People used to think him a sort of universal genius who
could do everything. I suppose he was quite the ablest man that had
been there for years, but I should think he would succeed ultimately as
the man of action and not as the scholar."

"You give him a most unlovely character," said the girl.

"I don't mean to. I own to being entirely fascinated by him. But he
was never, I think, really popular. He was supposed to be intolerant of
mediocrity; and also he used to offend quite