And he did this, with the usual mild variations of a University life, every weekday, for two-thirds of the year.  Of the other third, he spent part in Switzerland, dressed in a neat gray Norfolk suit with knickerbockers, and the rest with clerical friends of the scholastic type.  It was a very solemn thought to him how great were his responsibilities, and what a privilege it was to live in the whirl and stir of one of the intellectual centers of England!

* * * * *

Frank Guiseley was to Mr. Mackintosh a very great puzzle.  He had certainly been insubordinate in his first year (Mr. Mackintosh gravely suspected him of the Bread-and-Butter affair, which had so annoyed his colleague), but he certainly had been very steady and even deferential ever since. (He always took off his hat, for example, to Mr. Mackintosh, with great politeness.) Certainly he was not very regular at chapel, and he did not dine in hall nearly so often as Mr. Mackintosh would have wished (for was it not part of the University idea that men of all grades of society should meet as equals under the college roof?).  But, then, he had never been summoned for any very grave or disgraceful breach of the rules, and was never insolent or offensive to any of the Fellows.  Finally, he came of a very distinguished family; and Mr. Mackintosh had the keenest remembrance still of his own single interview, three years ago, with the Earl of Talgarth.

Mr. Mackintosh wondered, then, exactly what he would have to say to Mr. Guiseley, and what Mr. Guiseley would have to say to him.  He thought, if the young man were really going down for good, as he had understood this morning, it was only his plain duty to say a few tactful words about responsibility and steadiness.  That ridiculous auction would serve as his text.

* * * * *

Mr. Mackintosh paused an instant, as he always did, before saying “Come in!” to the knock on the door (I think he thought it helped to create a little impression of importance).  Then he said it; and Frank walked in.

“Good evening, Mr. Guiseley....  Yes; please sit down.  I understood from you this morning that you wished for your exeat.”

“Please,” said Frank.

“Just so,” said Mr. Mackintosh, drawing the exeat book—­resembling the butt of a check-book—­towards him.  “And you are going down to-morrow?”

“Yes,” said Frank.

“Going home?” murmured the Dean, inscribing Frank’s name in his neat little handwriting.

“No,” said Frank.

“Not?...  To London, perhaps?”

“Well, not exactly,” said Frank; “at least, not just yet.”

Mr. Mackintosh blotted the book carefully, and extracted the exeat.  He pushed it gently towards Frank.

“About that auction!” he said, smiling indulgently; “I did want to have a word with you about that.  It was very unusual; and I wondered....  But I am happy to think that there was no disturbance....  But can you tell me exactly why you chose that form of ... of ...”