was an undergraduate. One of the men, too, wore an Eton tie. But
the others, I should say, came from very queer schools, if they
came from any schools at all."

Mr. Pembroke was nearly twenty years older than his sister, and
had never been as handsome. But he was not at all the person to
knock into a gutter, for though not in orders, he had the air of
being on the verge of them, and his features, as well as his
clothes, had the clerical cut. In his presence conversation
became pure and colourless and full of understatements, and--just
as if he was a real clergyman--neither men nor boys ever forgot
that he was there. He had observed this, and it pleased him very
much. His conscience permitted him to enter the Church whenever
his profession, which was the scholastic, should demand it.

"No gutter in the world's as wet as this," said Agnes, who had
peeled off her brother's sock, and was now toasting it at the
embers on a pair of tongs.

"Surely you know the running water by the edge of the Trumpington
road? It's turned on occasionally to clear away the refuse--a
most primitive idea. When I was up we had a joke about it, and
called it the 'Pem.'"

"How complimentary!"

"You foolish girl,--not after me, of course. We called it the
'Pem' because it is close to Pembroke College. I remember--" He
smiled a little, and twiddled his toes. Then he remembered the
bedmaker, and said, "My sock is now dry. My sock, please."