Jack glanced down at it.

    “Miss Launton,
      “The Rectory,
          “Merefield, Yorks.”

ran the inscription.  He turned it over; it was fastened and sealed.

“I’ve told her we must wait a bit,” said Frank, “and that I’ll write again in a few weeks.”

Jack was silent.

“And you think it’s fair on her?” he asked deliberately.

Frank’s face broke up into humor.

“That’s for her to say,” he observed.  “And, to tell the truth, I’m not at all afraid.”

“But a gamekeeper’s wife!  And you a Catholic!”

“Ah! you don’t know Jenny,” smiled Frank.  “Jenny and I quite understand one another, thank you very much.”

“But is it quite fair?”

“Good Lord!” shouted Frank, suddenly roused.  “Fair!  What the devil does it matter?  Don’t you know that all’s fair—­under certain circumstances?  I do bar that rotten conventionalism.  We’re all rotten—­rotten, I tell you; and I’m going to start fresh.  So’s Jenny.  Kindly don’t talk of what you don’t understand.”

He stood up, stretching.  Then he threw the end of his cigarette away.

“I must go to the Dean,” he said.  “It’s close on the half-hour.”

(III)

The Reverend James Mackintosh was an excellent official of his college, and performed his duties with care and punctilium.  He rose about half-past seven o’clock every morning, drank a cup of tea and went to chapel.  After chapel he breakfasted, on Tuesdays and Thursdays with two undergraduates in their first year, selected in alphabetical order, seated at his table; on the other days of the week in solitude.  At ten o’clock he lectured, usually on one of St. Paul’s Epistles, on which subjects he possessed note-books filled with every conceivable piece of information that could be gathered together—­grammatical, philological, topographical, industrial, social, biographical—­with a few remarks on the fauna, flora, imports, characteristics and geological features of those countries to which those epistles were written, and in which they were composed.  These notes, guaranteed to guide any student who really mastered them to success, and even distinction, in his examinations, were the result of a lifetime of loving labor, and some day, no doubt, will be issued in the neat blue covers of the “Cambridge Bible for Schools.”  From eleven to twelve he lectured on Church history of the first five centuries—­after which period, it will be remembered by all historical students, Church history practically ceased.  At one he lunched; from two to four he walked rapidly (sometimes again in company with a serious theological student), along the course known as the Grantchester Grind, or to Coton and back.  At four he had tea; at five he settled down to administer discipline to the college, by summoning and remonstrating with such undergraduates as had failed to comply with the various regulations; at half-past seven he dined in hall—­a meek figure, clean shaven and spectacled, seated between an infidel philosopher and a socialist:  he drank a single glass of wine afterwards in the Combination Room, smoked one cigarette, and retired again to his rooms to write letters to parents (if necessary), and to run over his notes for next day.