death in the forest. After that, the wind in the trees sounds
melancholy.

But this service in King's College Chapel--why allow women to take part
in it? Surely, if the mind wanders (and Jacob looked extraordinarily
vacant, his head thrown back, his hymn-book open at the wrong place), if
the mind wanders it is because several hat shops and cupboards upon
cupboards of coloured dresses are displayed upon rush-bottomed chairs.
Though heads and bodies may be devout enough, one has a sense of
individuals--some like blue, others brown; some feathers, others pansies
and forget-me-nots. No one would think of bringing a dog into church.
For though a dog is all very well on a gravel path, and shows no
disrespect to flowers, the way he wanders down an aisle, looking,
lifting a paw, and approaching a pillar with a purpose that makes the
blood run cold with horror (should you be one of a congregation--alone,
shyness is out of the question), a dog destroys the service completely.
So do these women--though separately devout, distinguished, and vouched
for by the theology, mathematics, Latin, and Greek of their husbands.
Heaven knows why it is. For one thing, thought Jacob, they're as ugly as
sin.

Now there was a scraping and murmuring. He caught Timmy Durrant's eye;
looked very sternly at him; and then, very solemnly, winked.

"Waverley," the villa on the road to Girton was called, not that Mr.
Plumer admired Scott or would have chosen any name at all, but names are
useful when you have to entertain undergraduates, and as they sat
waiting for the fourth undergraduate, on Sunday at lunch-time, there was
talk of names upon gates.