a frilled dress shirt--why
shouldn't he?--that, having been brought up in Paris till he was
nineteen, he sometimes tucks his napkin under his chin--that he uses
French words when he needn't--that he dances like a Frenchman--that he
recites French poetry actually of his own making--that he plays too well
for a gentleman--that he doesn't respect the customs of the college, et
cetera. There is a sacred corner of the Junior Common Room, where no
freshman is expected to sit after hall. Otto sat in it--quite
innocently--knowing nothing--and, instead of apologising, made fun of
Jim Meyrick and Douglas Falloden who turned him out. Then afterwards he
composed a musical skit on 'the bloods,' which delighted every one in
college, who wasn't a 'blood.' And now there is open war between him and
them. Otto doesn't talk of it. I hear of it from other people. But he
looks excited and pale--he is a very delicate creature!--and we, who are
fond of him, live in dread of some violence. I never can understand why
the dons are so indulgent to ragging. It is nothing but a continuation
of school bullying. It ought to be put down with the strongest
possible hand."

Miss Wenlock had listened in tremulous sympathy, nodding from time to
time. Constance sat silent and rather pale--looting down. But her mind
was angry. She said to herself that nobody ought to attack absent
persons who can't defend themselves,--at least so violently. And as
Mrs. Mulholland seemed to wait for some remark from her, she said at
last, with a touch of impatience:

"I don't think Mr. Radowitz minds much. He came to us--to my uncle's--to
play last night. He was as gay as possible."

"Radowitz would make jokes with the hangman!" said Mrs. Mulholland. "Ah,
well, I think you know Douglas Falloden"--the tone was just lightly
touched with significance--"and if you can lecture him--do!" Then she
abruptly changed her subject:

"I suppose you have scarcely yet made acquaintance with your two aunts
who live quite close to the Fallodens in Yorkshire?"

Constance looked up in astonishment.

"Do you know them?"

"Oh, quite well!" The strong wrinkled face flashed into laughter. But
suddenly the speaker checked herself, and laid a worn hand gently on
Constance's knee--"You won't mind if I tell you things?--you won't think
me an impertinent old woman? I knew your father"--was there just an
imperceptible pause on the words?--"when he was quite a boy; and my
people were small squir