d the story, quite fairly and quite
politely. He described his convictions as well as he could, the various
steps he had taken, and the climax of the letter from his father. Then
he braced himself, to hear what would be said; or, rather, he retired
within himself, and, so to speak, shut the door and pulled down the
blinds.

It was all said exactly as he knew it would be. Mr. Mackintosh touched
upon a loving father's impatience, the son's youth and impetuosity, the
shock to an ancient family, the responsibilities of membership in that
family, the dangers of rash decisions, and, finally, the obvious errors
of the Church of Rome. He began several sentences with the phrase: "No
thinking man at the present day ..."

In fact, Mr. Mackintosh was, so soon as he had recovered from the first
shock, extraordinarily sensible and reasonable. He said all the proper
things, all the sensible and reasonable and common-sense things, and he
said them, not offensively or contemptuously, but tactfully and
persuasively. And he put into it the whole of his personality, such as
it was. He even quoted St. Paul.

He perspired a little, gently, towards the end: so he took off his
glasses and wiped them, looking, still with a smile, through kind,
short-sighted eyes, at this young man who sat so still. For Frank was so
quiet that the Dean thought him already half persuaded. Then once more
he summed up, when his glasses were fixed again; he ran through his
arguments lightly and efficiently, and ended by a quiet little
assumption that Frank was going to be reasonable, to write to his father
once more, and to wait at least a week. He even called him "my dear
boy!"

"Thanks very much," said Frank.

"Then you'll think it over quietly, my dear boy. Come and talk to me
again. I've given you your _exeat_, but you needn't use it. Come in
to-morrow evening after hall."

Frank stood up.

"Thanks, very much, Mr. Mackintosh. I'll ... I'll certainly remember
what you've said." He took up his _exeat_ as if mechanically.

"Then you can leave that for the present," smiled the Dean, pointing at
it. "I can write you another, you know."

Frank put it down quickly.

"Oh, certainly!" he said.

"Well, good-night, Mr. Guiseley.... I ... I can't tell you how glad I am
that you confided in me. Young men are a little unwise and impetuous
sometimes, you know. Good-night ... good-night. I shall expect you
to-morrow."

When Frank reached the court below he stoo