The high red walls of the college faced the dismal terraces, and the triple line of diamond-paned and iron-barred windows stared upon the ugly Staffordshire landscape.  A square tower squatted in the middle of the building, and out of it rose the octagon of the bell tower, and in the tower wall was the great oak door studded with great nails.

“How Birmingham the whole place does look,” thought Mr Hare, as he laid his hand on an imitation mediaeval bell-pull.

“Is Mr John Norton at home?” he asked when the servant came.  “Will you give him my card, and say that I should like to see him.”

On entering, Mr Hare found himself in a tiled hall, around which was built a staircase in varnished oak.  There was a quadrangle, and from three sides the interminable latticed windows looked down on the green sward; on the fourth there was an open corridor, with arches to imitate a cloister.  All was strong and barren, and only about the varnished staircase was there any sign of comfort.  There a virgin in bright blue stood on a crescent moon; above her the ceiling was panelled in oak, and the banisters, the cocoa nut matting, the bit of stained glass, and the religious prints, suggested a mock air of hieratic dignity.  And the room Mr Hare was shown into continued this impression.  Cabinets in carved oak harmonised with high-backed chairs glowing with red Utrecht velvet, and a massive table, on which lay a folio edition of St Augustine’s “City of God” and the “Epistolae Consolitoriae” of St Jerome.

The bell continued to clang, and through the latticed windows Mr Hare watched the divines hurrying along the windy terrace, and the tramp of the boys going to their class-rooms could be heard in passages below.

Then a young man entered.  He was thin, and he was dressed in black.  His face was very Roman, the profile especially was what you might expect to find on a Roman coin—­a high nose, a high cheek-bone, a strong chin, and a large ear.  The eyes were prominent and luminous, and the lower part of the face was expressive of resolution and intelligence, but above the eyes there were many indications of cerebral distortions.  The forehead was broad, but the temples retreated rapidly to the brown hair which grew luxuriantly on the top of the head, leaving what the phrenologists call the bumps of ideality curiously exposed, and this, taken in conjunction with the yearning of the large prominent eyes, suggested at once a clear, delightful intelligence,—­a mind timid, fearing, and doubting, such a one as would seek support in mysticism and dogma, that would rise instantly to a certain point, but to drop as suddenly as if sickened by the too intense light of the cold, pure heaven of reason to the gloom of the sanctuary and the consolations of Faith.  Let us turn to the mouth for a further indication of character.  It was large, the lips were thick, but without a trace of sensuality.  They were dim in colour, they