ow. All one's old
ideas are in the melting-pot," she went on, "and Jim has schemes. He is
full of plans. He thinks there is much to be done, in Oxford, with
Oxford--nothing revolutionary--but a lot that is evolutionary."

Mrs. Dashwood dropped her knitting to listen, though she could have
heard quite well without doing this.

"Imagine!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, with a little burst of anger, "what
a man like Jim, a scholar, a man of business, an organiser, what on
earth he would do with a wife like Gwendolen Scott! The idea is absurd."

"The absurd often happens," said May, and as she said this she took up
her knitting again with such a jerk that her ball of wool tumbled to the
floor and began rolling; and being a tight ball it rolled some distance
sideways from May's chair in the direction of the far distant door. She
gave the wool a little tug, but the ball merely shook itself, turned
over and released still more wool.

"Very well, remain there if you prefer that place," said May, and as she
spoke there came a slight noise at the door.

Both ladies looked to see who was coming in. It was the Warden. He held
a cigar in his hand, a sign (Lady Dashwood knew it) that he intended
merely to bid them "Good night," and retire again to his library. But he
now stood in the half-light with his hand on the door, and looked
towards the glow of the hearth where the two ladies sat alone, each
lighted by a tall, electric candle stand on the floor. And as he looked
at this little space of light and warmth he hesitated.

Then he closed the door behind him and came in.

CHAPTER VI

MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION

The Warden came slowly towards them over the wide space of carpeted
floor.

Lady Dashwood, who knew every passing change in his face and manner
(they were photographed over and over again in every imaginable style in
her book of life), noticed that the sight of herself and May alone, that
is, without Gwen--had made him decide to come in. She drew her own
conclusions and smiled.

"When you pass that ball of wool, pick it up, Jim," she said.

She spoke too late, however, and the Warden kicked the ball with one
foot, and sent it rolling under a chair. It took the opportunity of
flinging itself round one leg, and tumbling against the second. With its
remaining strength it rolled half way round the third leg, and then lay
exhausted.

"I'm not going to apologise," said the Warden, in his most courteous
tones.

"Yo