he adjusted the expenses of these last days that, after paying the
landlady's bill to-morrow morning, there would remain to him but a
few pence more than the money needed for his journey home. Walking
into the town, he debated with himself whether it were not better to
save this florin. But as he approached the pit door, the spirit of
pleasure revived in him; he had seen but one of Shakespeare's plays,
and he believed (naturally at his age) that to see a drama acted was
necessary for its full appreciation. Sidling with affected
indifference, he added himself to the crowd.

To stand thus, expectant of the opening doors, troubled him with a
sense of shame. To be sure, he was in the spiritual company of
Charles Lamb, and of many another man of brains who has waited under
the lamp. But contact with the pittites of Kingsmill offended his
instincts; he resented this appearance of inferiority to people who
came at their leisure, and took seats in the better parts of the
house. When a neighbour addressed him with a meaningless joke which
defied grammar, he tried to grin a friendly answer, but inwardly
shrank. The events of the day had increased his sensibility to such
impressions. Had he triumphed over Bruno Chilvers, he could have
behaved this evening with a larger humanity.

The fight for entrance--honest British stupidity, crushing ribs
and rending garments in preference to seemly order of progress--
enlivened him somewhat, and sent him laughing to his conquered
place; but before the curtain rose he was again depressed by the
sight of a familiar figure in the stalls, a fellow-student who sat
there with mother and sister, black-uniformed, looking very much a
gentleman. 'I, of course, am not a gentleman,' he said to himself,
gloomily. Was there any chance that he might some day take his ease