It is a great class, living in the main in red-brick
villas on the outskirts of academic towns, marrying mild blue-stockings,
working incessantly, and finally attaining to the fame of mention in
prefaces and foot-notes, and a short paragraph in the _Times_ at the
last. . . . Mr. Hoddam did not seek the company of one who was young,
pretty, an heiress, and presumably flippant, but he was flattered when
she plainly sought him.
"Mr. Lewis Haystoun is coming here this afternoon," she had announced.
"Do you know him?"
"I have read his book," said her victim.
"Yes, but did you not know him at Oxford? You were there with him, were
you not?"
"Yes, we were there together. I knew him by sight, of course, for he
was a very well-known person. But, you see, we belonged to very
different sets."
"How do you mean?" asked the blunt Alice.
"Well, you see," began Mr. Hoddam awkwardly--absolute honesty was one
of his characteristics--"he was very well off, and he lived with a
sporting set, and he was very exclusive."
"But I thought he was clever--I thought he was rather brilliant?"
"Oh, he was! Indubitably! He got everything he wanted, but then he got
them easily and had a lot of time for other things, whereas most of us
had not a moment to spare. He got the best First of his year and the
St. Chad's Fellowship, but I think he cared far more about winning the
'Varsity Grind.
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