A year passed, and when Philip came to the school the old masters were all in their places; but a good many changes had taken place notwithstanding their stubborn resistance, none the less formidable because it was concealed under an apparent desire to fall in with the new head’s ideas.  Though the form-masters still taught French to the lower school, another master had come, with a degree of doctor of philology from the University of Heidelberg and a record of three years spent in a French lycee, to teach French to the upper forms and German to anyone who cared to take it up instead of Greek.  Another master was engaged to teach mathematics more systematically than had been found necessary hitherto.  Neither of these was ordained.  This was a real revolution, and when the pair arrived the older masters received them with distrust.  A laboratory had been fitted up, army classes were instituted; they all said the character of the school was changing.  And heaven only knew what further projects Mr. Perkins turned in that untidy head of his.  The school was small as public schools go, there were not more than two hundred boarders; and it was difficult for it to grow larger, for it was huddled up against the Cathedral; the precincts, with the exception of a house in which some of the masters lodged, were occupied by the cathedral clergy; and there was no more room for building.  But Mr. Perkins devised an elaborate scheme by which he might obtain sufficient space to make the school double its present size.  He wanted to attract boys from London.  He thought it would be good for them to be thrown in contact with the Kentish lads, and it would sharpen the country wits of these.

“It’s against all our traditions,” said Sighs, when Mr. Perkins made the suggestion to him.  “We’ve rather gone out of our way to avoid the contamination of boys from London.”

“Oh, what nonsense!” said Mr. Perkins.

No one had ever told the form-master before that he talked nonsense, and he was meditating an acid reply, in which perhaps he might insert a veiled reference to hosiery, when Mr. Perkins in his impetuous way attacked him outrageously.

“That house in the precincts—­if you’d only marry I’d get the Chapter to put another couple of stories on, and we’d make dormitories and studies, and your wife could help you.”

The elderly clergyman gasped.  Why should he marry?  He was fifty-seven, a man couldn’t marry at fifty-seven.  He couldn’t start looking after a house at his time of life.  He didn’t want to marry.  If the choice lay between that and the country living he would much sooner resign.  All he wanted now was peace and quietness.

“I’m not thinking of marrying,” he said.

Mr. Perkins looked at him with his dark, bright eyes, and if there was a twinkle in them poor Sighs never saw it.

“What a pity!  Couldn’t you marry to oblige me?  It would help me a great deal with the Dean and Chapter when I suggest rebuilding your house.”