“Very well. I’ll speak to the Bursar-in a general way-about spikes.”

Harriet changed her frock, pondering on the social absurdities of the party to which she was invited. Clearly, Mr. Pomfret clung to her as a protection against Miss Flaxman, and Mr. Farringdon, as a protection against Mr. Pomfret, while Miss Flaxman, who was apparently her hostess, did not warn her at all. It was a pity that she could not embark on the adventure of annexing Mr. Farringdon, to complete a neat little tail-chasing circle. But she was both too old and too young to feel any thrill over the Byronic profile of Mr. Farringdon; there was more amusement to be had out of remaining a buffer state. She did, however, feel sufficient resentment against Miss Flaxman for her handling of the Cattermole affair, to put on an exceedingly well-cut coat and skirt and a hat of unexceptionable smartness, before starting out for the first item in her afternoon’s program.

She had little difficulty in finding Mr. Pomfret’s staircase, and none whatever in finding Mr. Pomfret. As she wound her way up the dark and ancient stair, past the shut door of one, Mr. Smith, the sported oak of one, Mr. Banerjee, and the open door of one, Mr. Hodges, who seemed to be entertaining a large and noisy party of male friends, she became aware of an altercation going on upon the landing above, and presently Mr. Pomfret himself came into view, standing in his own doorway and arguing with a man whose back was turned towards the stair.

“You can go to the devil,” said Mr. Pomfret.

“Very good, sir,” said the back; “but how about me going to the young lady? If I was to go and tell her that I seen you a-pushing of her over the wall-”

“Blast you!” exclaimed Mr. Pomfret. “Will you shut up?”

At this point, Harriet set her foot upon the top stair, and encountered the eye of Mr. Pomfret.

“Oh!” said Mr. Pomfret, taken aback. Then, to the man, “Clear off now; I’m busy. You’d better come again.”

“Quite a man for the ladies, ain’t you, sir?” said the man, disagreeably.

At these words, he turned, and, to her amazement, Harriet recognized a familiar face.

“Dear me, Jukes,” said she. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Do you know this blighter?” said Mr. Pomfret.

“Of course I do,” said Harriet. “He was a porter at Shrewsbury, and was sacked for petty pilfering. I hope you’re going straight now. Jukes. How’s your wife?”

“All right,” said Jukes, sulkily. “I’ll come again.”

He made a move to slip down the staircase, but Harriet had set her umbrella so awkwardly across it as to bar the way pretty effectively. “Hi!” said Mr. Pomfret. “Let’s hear about this. Just come back here a minute, will you?” He stretched out a powerful arm, and yanked the reluctant Jukes over the threshold.

“You can’t get me on that old business,” said Jukes, scornfully, as Harriet followed them in, shutting oak and door after her with a bang. “That’s over and done with. It ain’t got nothing to do with that other little affair what I mentioned.”

“What’s that?” asked Harriet.

“This nasty piece of work,” said Mr. Pomfret, “has had the blasted neck to come here and say that if I don’t pay him to keep his mouth shut, he’ll lay an information about what happened last night.”

“Blackmail,” said Harriet, much interested. “That’s a serious offence.”

“I didn’t mention no money,” said Jukes, injured. “I only told this gennelman as I seen something as didn’t ought to have happened and was uneasy in my mind about it. He says I can go to the devil, so I says in that case I’ll go to the lady, being troubled in my conscience, don’t you see.”

“Very well,” said Harriet. “I’m here. Go ahead.”

Mr. Jukes stared at her.

“I take it,” said Harriet, “you saw Mr. Pomfret help me in over the Shrewsbury wall last night when I’d forgotten my key. What were you doing out there, by the way? Loitering with intent? You then probably saw me come out again, thank Mr. Pomfret and ask him to come in and see the College Buildings by moonlight. If you waited long enough, you saw me let him out again. What about it.”

“Nice goings-on, I don’t think,” said Jukes, disconcerted.

“Possibly,” said Harriet. “But if Senior Members choose to enter their own college in an unorthodox way, I don’t see who’s to prevent them. Certainly not you.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Jukes.

“I can’t help that,” said Harriet. “The Dean saw Mr. Pomfret and me so she will. Nobody’s likely to believe you. Why didn’t you tell this man the whole story at once, Mr. Pomfret, and relieve his conscience? By the way, Jukes, I’ve just told the Dean she ought to have that wall spiked. It was handy for us, but it really isn’t high enough to keep out burglars and other undesirables. So it’s not much good your loitering about there any more. One or two things have been missed from people’s rooms lately,” she added, with some truth, “it might be as well to have that road specially policed.”

“None of that,” said Jukes. “I ain’t a-going to have my character took away. If it’s as you say, then I’m sure I’d be the last to want to make trouble for a lady like yourself.”

“I hope you’ll bear that in mind,” said Mr. Pomfret. “Perhaps you’d like to have something to remember it by.”

“No assault!” cried Jukes, backing towards the door. “No assault! Don’t you go to lay ’ands on me!”

“If ever you show your dirty face here again,” said Mr. Pomfret, opening the door, “I’ll kick you downstairs and right through the quad. Get that? Then get out!”

He flung the oak back with one hand and propelled Jukes vigorously through it with the other. A crash and a curse proclaimed that the swiftness of Jukes’s exit had carried him over the head of the stairs.

“Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Pomfret, returning. “By jove! that was great! That was marvellous of you. How did you come to think of it?”

“It was fairly obvious. I expect it was all bluff, really. I don’t see how he could have known who Miss Cattermole was. I wonder how he got on to you.”

“He must have followed me back when I came out. But I didn’t get in through this window-obviously-so how did he-? Oh! yes, when I knocked Brown up I believe he stuck his head out and said, That you, Pomfret? Careless blighter. I’ll talk to him…I say, you do seem to be everybody’s guardian angel, don’t you? It’s marvellous, being able to keep your wits about you like that.”

He gazed at her with dog-like eyes. Harriet laughed, as Mr. Rogers and the tea entered the room together.

Mr. Rogers was in his third year-tall, dark, lively and full of an easy kind of penitence. “All this running round and busting rules is rot,” said Mr. Rogers. “Why do we do it? Because somebody says it is fun, and one believes it. Why should one believe it? I can’t imagine. One should look at these things more objectively. Is the thing beautiful in itself? No. Then let us not do it. By the way, Pomfret, have you been approached about debagging Culpepper?”

“I am all for it,” said Mr. Pomfret.

“True, Culpepper is a wart. He is a disgusting object. But would he look better debagged? No, Socrates, he would not. He would look much worse. If anybody is to be debagged, it shall be somebody with legs that will stand exposure-your own, Pomfret, for example.”

“You try, that’s all,” said Mr. Pomfret.

“In any case,” pursued Mr. Rogers, “debagging is otiose and out of date. The modern craze for exposing unaesthetic legs needs no encouragement from me. I shall not be a party to it. I intend to be a reformed character. From now on, I shall consider nothing but the value of the Thing-in-Itself, unmoved by any pressure of public opinion.”

Having, in this pleasant manner, confessed his sins and promised amendment, Mr. Rogers gracefully led the conversation to topics of general interest, and, about 5 o’clock, departed, murmuring something in an apologetic way about work and his tutor, as though they were rather indelicate necessities. At this point, Mr. Pomfret suddenly went all solemn, as a very young man occasionally does when alone with a woman older than himself, and told Harriet a good deal about his own view of the meaning of life. Harriet listened with as much intelligent sympathy as she could command; but was slightly relieved when three young men burst in to borrow Mr. Pomfret’s beer and remained to argue over their host’s head about Komisarjevsky. Mr. Pomfret seemed faintly annoyed, and eventually asserted his right to his own guest by announcing that it was time to pop round to New College for old Farringdon’s party. His friends let him go with mild regret and, before Harriet and her escort were well out of the room, took possession of their armchairs and continued the argument.