een classic and romantic art, and could not make up
his mind whether Flaxman's attempt or the mediaeval sculptor's
achievement were worthier of admiration. He tried to apply his own test,
and came to the conclusion that Flaxman was really all wrong. He decided
that he only liked the trousered boy because the figure gave him
sentimental pleasure, and he was sure that true classical art was not
sentimental. Finally he got himself in a complete muddle, sitting among
these hollow chantries and pondering art's evaluations; so he left the
Priory behind him, and went dreamily through the water-meadows under the
spell of a simple beauty that needed no analysis. Oxford would be like
this, he thought; a place of bells and singing streams and towers
against the horizon.

He waited by a stile, watching the sky of which sunset had made a
tranced archipelago set in a tideless sea. The purple islands stood out
more and more distinct against the sheeted gold that lapped their
indentations; then in a few moments the gold went out to primrose, the
purple isles were grey as mice, and by an imperceptible breath of time
became merged in a luminous green that held the young moon led
downwards through the west by one great sulphur star.

This speculation of the sky made Michael late for dinner, and gave his
mother an opportunity to complain of his daylong desertion of her.

"I rather wish we hadn't come to Bournemouth," said Michael. "I think
it's a bad place for us to choose to come together. I remember last time
we stayed here you were always criticizing me."

"I suppose Bournemouth must have a bad effect on you, dearest boy," said
Mrs. Fane in her most gentle, most discouraging voice.

Michael laughed a little bitterly.

"You're wonderful at always being able to put me in the wrong," he said.

"You're sometimes not very polite, are you, nowadays? But I dare say
you'll grow out of this curious manner you've lately adopted towards
me."

"Was I rude?" asked Michael, quickly penitent.

"I think you were rather rude, dear," said Mrs. Fane. "Of course, I
don't want you never to have an opinion of your own, and I quite realize
that school has a disastrous effect on manners, but you didn't apologize
very gracefully for being late for dinner, did you, dear?"

"I'm sorry. I won't ever be again," said Michael shortly.

Mrs. Fane sighed, and the meal progressed in silence. Michael, however,
could never bear to sulk, and he braced himself t