anse of
countenances beamed a boundless self-satisfaction. To be connected in
any way with Whitelaw formed a subject of pride, seeing that here was
the sturdy outcome of the most modern educational endeavour, a
noteworthy instance of what Englishmen can do for themselves, unaided
by bureaucratic machinery. Every student who achieved distinction in
to-day's class lists was felt to bestow a share of his honour upon each
spectator who applauded him.

With occasional adjustment of his eye-glasses, and smiling his smile of
modest tolerance, Mr. Warricombe surveyed the crowded hall. His
connection with the town was not intimate, and he could discover few
faces that were familiar to him. A native and, till of late, an
inhabitant of Devon, he had come to reside on his property near
Kingsmill because it seemed to him that the education of his children
would be favoured by a removal thither. Two of his oldest friends held
professorships at Whitelaw; here, accordingly, his eldest son was
making preparation for Cambridge, whilst his daughter attended classes
at the admirable High School, of which Kingsmill was only less proud
than of its College.

Seated between his father and his sister, Buckland drew their attention
to such persons or personages as interested his very selective mind.

'Admire the elegant languor of Wotherspoon,' he remarked, indicating
the Professor of Greek. 'Watch him for a moment, and you'll see him
glance contemptuously at old Plummer. He can't help it; they hate each
other.'

'But why?' whispered the girl, with timid eagerness.

'Oh, it began, they say, when Plummer once had to take one of
Wotherspoon's classes; some foolery about a second aorist. Thank
goodness, I don't understand the profound dispute.--Oh, do look at that
fatuous idiot Chilvers!'

The young gentleman of whom he spoke, a student of Buckland's own
standing, had just attracted general notice. Rising from his seat in
the lower part of the amphitheatre, at the moment when all were hushed
in anticipation of the Principal's address, Mr. Chilvers was beckoning
to someone whom his eye had descried at great distance, and for whom,
as he indicated by gesture, he had preserved a place.

'See how it delights him to make an exhibition of himself!' pursued the
censorious youth. 'I'd bet a sovereign he's arranged it all. Look how
he brandishes his arm to display his cuffs and gold links. Now he
touches his hair, to point out how light and exquisi