'I daresay I may look in upon you at your torture. Good luck, old
fellow! If we don't see each other again, write to me at Trinity
before the end of the year.'

As soon as she was sufficiently remote, Mrs. Warricombe ejaculated in
a subdued voice of irritation:

'Such a very unprepossessing young man I never met! He seems to have
no breeding whatever.'

'Overweighted with brains,' replied her husband; adding to himself,
'and by no means so with money, I fear.'

Opportunity at length offering, Mrs. Warricombe stepped into the
circle irradiated by Bruno Chilvers; her husband and Sidwell pressed
after. Buckland, with an exclamation of disgust, went off to
criticise the hero among a group of his particular friends.

Godwin Peak stood alone. On the bench where he had sat were heaped
the prize volumes (eleven in all, some of them massive), and his
wish was to make arrangements for their removal. Gazing about him,
he became aware of the College librarian, with whom he was on
friendly terms.

'Mr. Poppleton, who would pack and send these books away for me?'

'An ~embarras de richesse~!' laughed the librarian. 'If you like to
tell the porter to take care of them for the present, I shall be
glad to see that they are sent wherever you like.'