every one so happy and running in and out of each other's rooms
all day long."

"That might make an Undergrad happy, but I beg leave to state it
wouldn't me. I haven't four years to throw away for the sake of
being called a 'Varsity man and hobnobbing with Lords."

Rickie was prepared to find his old schoolfellow ungrammatical
and bumptious, but he was not prepared to find him peevish.
Athletes, he believed, were simple, straightforward people, cruel
and brutal if you like, but never petty. They knocked you down
and hurt you, and then went on their way rejoicing. For this,
Rickie thought, there is something to be said: he had escaped the
sin of despising the physically strong--a sin against which the
physically weak must guard. But here was Dawes returning again
and again to the subject of the University, full of transparent
jealousy and petty spite, nagging, nagging, nagging, like a
maiden lady who has not been invited to a tea-party. Rickie
wondered whether, after all, Ansell and the extremists might not
be right, and bodily beauty and strength be signs of the soul's
damnation.

He glanced at Agnes. She was writing down some orderings for the
tradespeople on a piece of paper. Her handsome face was intent on
the work. The bench on which she and Gerald were sitting had no
back, but she sat as straight as a dart. He, though strong enough
to sit straight, did not take the trouble.

"Why don't they talk to each other?" thought Rickie.