'and as you must admit yourself,
sir. Pore Miss Annett is _that_ distressed."

Miss Annett did indeed look downcast. "I can't think---" she began.

"It's quite all right, Miss Annett," said Olva. "I think it's wonderful
that you break the things as seldom as you do. The china was of no kind
of value."

It was known in the college that Mr. Dune was the only gentleman of
whom Mrs. Ridge could be said to be afraid; she was proud of him and
frightened of him. She said to Miss Annett, when that lady made her
first appearance--

"And I can tell _you_, Miss Annett, that you need never 'ave no fear of
bein' introjuced to Royalty one of these days after bein' with that Mr.
Dune, because it puts you in practice, I can tell you, and a nice spoken
gentleman 'e is and _quiet_--never does a thing 'e shouldn't, but wicked
under it all I'll be bound. 'E's no chicken, you take it from me. Born
yesterday? I _don't_ think. . . ."

The women faded away, and he was left to himself. After breakfast he
thought that he would write to his father and give him an account of
the thing that he had done; if he escaped suspicion he would tear it up.
Also he was determined on two things: one was that if he were accused
of the crime, he would at once admit everything; the other was that he
would do his utmost, until he was accused, to lead his life exactly as
though he were in no way concerned. He had now an odd assurance that it
was not by his public condemnation that he was intended to work out the
results of his act. Why was he so assured of that? What was it that was
now so strangely moving him? He faced the world, armed, resolved. It
seemed to him that it was important for him, now, to live. This was
the first moment of his life that existence had appeared to be of any
moment. He wanted time to continue his search.

He wrote to his father---

MY DEAR FATHER,---

I have just been arrested on the charge of murdering an undergraduate
here called Carfax. It is quite true that I killed him. We met
yesterday, in the country, quarrelled, and I struck him, hitting him on
the chin. He fell instantly, breaking his neck. He was muck of the worst
kind. I had known him at Rugby; he was always a beast of the lowest
order. He was ruining a fellow here, taking his money, making him drink,
doing for him; also ruining a girl in a tobacconist's shop. All this was
no business of mine, but we had always loathed one another. I think when
I hit him I wante