"I've been sent down," said Falk.

It was characteristic of the relationship in that family that, at that
statement, Mrs. Brandon and Joan did not look at Falk but at the
Archdeacon.

"Sent down!"

"Yes, for ragging! They wanted to do it last term."

"Sent down!" The Archdeacon shot to his feet; his voice suddenly lifted
into a cry. "And you have the impertinence to come here and tell me! You
walk in as though nothing had happened! You walk in!..."

"You're angry," said Falk, smiling. "Of course I knew you would be. You
might hear me out first. But I'll come along when I've unpacked and you're
a bit cooler. I wanted some tea, but I suppose that will have to wait. You
just listen, father, and you'll find it isn't so bad. Oxford's a rotten
place for any one who wants to be on his own, and, anyway, you won't have
to pay my bills any more."

Falk turned and went.

The Archdeacon, as he stood there, felt a dim mysterious pain as though an
adversary whom he completely despised had found suddenly with his weapon a
joint in his armour.