e same away in Manresa Road. George's grindstone happened to
be Miers and Crosskey's _The Soil in Relation to Health_. He was
preparing for his Final Examination. In addition to the vast
imperial subject of Design, the Final comprised four other
subjects--Construction, Hygiene, Properties and Uses of Building
Materials, and Ordinary Practice of Architecture. George was now busy
with one branch of the second of these subjects. Perhaps he was not
following precisely the order of tactics prescribed by the most wily
tacticians, for as usual he had his own ideas and they were arbitrary;
but he was veritably and visibly engaged in the slow but exciting
process of becoming a great architect. And he knew and felt that he was.
And the disordered bed, and the untransparent bath-water, and the
soap-tin by the side of the bath, and the breakfast-tray on a chair,
were as much a part of the inspiring spectacle as himself tense and
especially dandiacal in the midst.

Nevertheless appearances deceived. On a table were the thirteen folio
and quarto glorious illustrated volumes of Ongania's _Basilica di San
Marco_, which Mr. Enwright had obtained for him on loan, and which had
come down to No. 8 in a big box by Carter Paterson van. And while George
sat quite still with his eyes and his volition centred fiercely on Miers
and Crosskey, his brain would keep making excursions across the room to
the Church of St. Mark at Venice. He brought it back again and again
with a jerk but he could not retain it in place. The minutes passed; the
quarters passed, until an hour and a half had gone. Then he closed Miers
and Crosskey. He had sworn to study Miers and Crosskey for an hour and a
half. He had fought hard to do so, and nobody could say that he had not
done so. He was aware, however, that the fight had not been wholly
successful; he had not won it; on the other hand neither had he lost it.
Honour was saved, and he could still sincerely assert that in regard to
the Final Examination he had got time fiercely by the forelock. He rose
and strolled over to the _Basilica di San Marco_, and opened one or two
of those formidable and enchanting volumes. Then he produced a
cigarette, and struck a match, and he was about to light the cigarette,
when squinting down at it he suddenly wondered: "Now how the deuce did
that cigarette come into my mouth?" He replaced the cigarette in his
case, and in a moment he had left the house.

He was invited to Mrs. John O