to the vast imperial subject of Design, the Final comprised four other subjects—­Construction, Hygiene, Properties and Uses of Building Materials, and Ordinary Practice of Architecture.  George was now busy with one branch of the second of these subjects.  Perhaps he was not following precisely the order of tactics prescribed by the most wily tacticians, for as usual he had his own ideas and they were arbitrary; but he was veritably and visibly engaged in the slow but exciting process of becoming a great architect.  And he knew and felt that he was.  And the disordered bed, and the untransparent bath-water, and the soap-tin by the side of the bath, and the breakfast-tray on a chair, were as much a part of the inspiring spectacle as himself tense and especially dandiacal in the midst.

Nevertheless appearances deceived.  On a table were the thirteen folio and quarto glorious illustrated volumes of Ongania’s Basilica di San Marco, which Mr. Enwright had obtained for him on loan, and which had come down to No. 8 in a big box by Carter Paterson van.  And while George sat quite still with his eyes and his volition centred fiercely on Miers and Crosskey, his brain would keep making excursions across the room to the Church of St. Mark at Venice.  He brought it back again and again with a jerk but he could not retain it in place.  The minutes passed; the quarters passed, until an hour and a half had gone.  Then he closed Miers and Crosskey.  He had sworn to study Miers and Crosskey for an hour and a half.  He had fought hard to do so, and nobody could say that he had not done so.  He was aware, however, that the fight had not been wholly successful; he had not won it; on the other hand neither had he lost it.  Honour was saved, and he could still sincerely assert that in regard to the Final Examination he had got time fiercely by the forelock.  He rose and strolled over to the Basilica di San Marco, and opened one or two of those formidable and enchanting volumes.  Then he produced a cigarette, and struck a match, and he was about to light the cigarette, when squinting down at it he suddenly wondered:  “Now how the deuce did that cigarette come into my mouth?” He replaced the cigarette in his case, and in a moment he had left the house.

He was invited to Mrs. John Orgreave’s new abode at Bedford Park for lunch.  In the early part of the year, Mrs. John had inherited money—­again, and the result had been an increase in the spaciousness of her existence.  George had not expected to see the new house, for he had determined to have nothing more to do with Mrs. John.  He was, it is to be feared, rather touchy.  He and Mrs. John had not openly quarrelled, but in their hearts they had quarrelled.  George had for some time objected to her attitude towards him as a boarder.  She would hint that, as she assuredly had no need of boarders, she was conferring a favour on him by boarding him.  It was of course true, but George considered that her references to