tfully
scratching the ample red surface of his wide, clean-shaven cheek. "I
don't know," he ejaculated at last, addressing his empty study, "I don't
know." And with that expression he put all thought of Victor Stott away
from him, and sat down to write an exhaustive article on the necessity
for a broader basis in primary education.

II

Challis called at the rectory of Stoke-Underhill on the way back to his
own house.

"I give way," was the characteristic of his attitude to Crashaw, and the
rector suppled his back again, remembered the Derby office-boy's
tendency to brag, and made the amende honorable. He even overdid his
magnanimity and came too near subservience--so lasting is the influence
of the lessons of youth.

Crashaw did not mention that in the interval between the two interviews
he had called upon Mr. Purvis in the Square. The ex-mayor had refused to
commit himself to any course of action.

But Challis forgot the rectory and all that it connoted before he was
well outside the rectory's front door. Challis had a task before him
that he regarded with the utmost distaste. He had warmly championed a
cause; he had been heated by the presentation of a manifest injustice
which was none the less tyrannical because it was ridiculous. And now he
realised that it was only the abstract question which had aroused his
enthusiastic advocacy, and he shrank from the interview with Victor
Stott--that small, deliberate, intimidating child.

Henry Challis, the savant, the man of repute in letters, the respected
figure in the larger world; Challis, the proprietor and landlord;
Challis, the power among known men, knew that he would have to plead, to
humble himself, to be prepared for a rebuff--worst of all, to
acknowledge the justice of taking so undignified a position. Any
aristocrat may stoop with dignity when he condescends of his own free
will; but there are few who can submit gracefully to deserved contempt.

Challis was one of the few. He had many admirable qualities.
Nevertheless, during that short motor ride from Stoke to his own house,
he resented the indignity he anticipated, resented it intensely--and
submitted.

III

He was allowed no respite. Victor Stott was emerging from the library
window as Challis rolled up to the hall door. It was one of Ellen Mary's
days--she stood respectfully in the background while her son descended;
she curtsied to Challis as he came forward.

He hesitated a moment. He woul