o draw obscene
pictures of it, adding appropriate lyrics. Martin came to the
conclusion that Greats must be bad for the temper, but he was not
troubled by the reflection that some day he himself would be a
sufferer, for no sane person of eighteen thinks more than a year in
advance.

He began now to feel a growing dignity and responsibility. Plainly he
was no longer a schoolboy, not even a god-like prefectorial schoolboy,
but an undergraduate and a man of the world. Such status implied
duties, and he made efforts to cultivate a manner: he smoked a pipe
openly instead of cigarettes in secret: he also set about the task of
liking wine. This did not turn out to be so big a business as his
first experiences had led him to expect.

Further, he began to prefer his tennis mixed: he had been happier
before when there were only men and they could have a hard-hitting,
vigorous set. But now he wanted to display his newly acquired American
service and deadly smashes at the net to the girls who hit patiently
from the back line: he was inwardly ashamed of this desire to make an
impression on girls, but there it undeniably was.

Margaret Berrisford he had always taken for granted. She was a year
older than he was and very often she went away, for her father was
taking every precaution to save her from the usual limitations of the
squire's daughter. They were cousins and good friends and scarcely
ever spoke to each other alone: they merely said 'Good-morning' and
'Good-night' and played tennis together. Because they were practically
members of the same family they never took the trouble to find out
about one another. Margaret had beauty of a subtle, unimposing kind
and a strong athletic figure: moreover, she had brains and could talk.
Her interests were wide and she had an astonishing fund of information.
If she had been precipitated suddenly into the house as a visitor
Martin would certainly have fallen in love with her. As it was, the
idea never occurred to him.

It remained, as frequently happens, for a married woman to inflict the
first wound.

One afternoon at the end of September Martin was leaving the tennis
lawn after a vain effort to play in the failing light on dew-soaked
grass. He had stayed behind to collect the balls and was walking
slowly with three folded deck-chairs in one hand, while with the other
he carried the balls on his racket. Suddenly he became aware of voices
and almost ran into Mrs Berrisfor