people born to refinement who were his associates, his friends.
That phase of feeling was rather strong in him just now; disguising
itself in the form of sundry plausible motives, it had induced him to
decline Mrs. Tyrrell's invitation, and was fostering his temporary
distaste for the society in which he had always found much pleasure.
What if in strictness he belonged to neither sphere? What if his life
were to be a struggle between inherited sympathies and the affinities
of his intellect? All the better, perchance, for his prospect of
usefulness; he stood as a mediator between two sections of society. But
for his private happiness, how?

He spent this evening very idly, sometimes pacing his large,
uncomfortable room, sometimes endeavouring to read one or other of
certain volumes new from the circulating library. Of late he had passed
many such evenings, for it was very seldom that any one came to see
him, and for the amusements of the town he had no inclination. He was
thinking much of Annabel; he could not imagine her other than calm,
intellectual; he could not hear her voice uttering passionate words. A
great change must come over her before her reserved maidenliness could
soften to such sweet humility.

And he had no faith in his power so to change her.

The next day was Thursday. This and Sunday were his lecture days; his
class met at half-past eight. Precisely at that hour he reached a small
doorway in High Street, Lambeth, and ascended a flight of stairs to a
room which he had furnished as he deemed most suitable. Several rows of
school-desks faced a high desk at which he stood to lecture. The walls
were washed in distemper, the boarding of the floor was uncovered, the
two windows were hidden with plain shutters. The room had formerly been
used for purposes of storage by a glass and china merchant; below was
the workshop of a saddler, which explained the pervading odour of
leather.

A little group of men stood in conversation near the fire; on
Egremont's appearance they seated themselves at the desks, each
producing a note-book which he laid open before him. Thus ranged they
were seen to be eight in number. Out of fourteen to whom invitations
were addressed, nine had presented themselves at the preliminary
meeting; one, we know, had since proved unfaithful. Egremont looked
round for Ackroyd on entering, but the young man was not here.

On the front bench were two men whom as yet you know only by name. Mr.