simplest, commonest, strongest emotion of humanity.  His eyes were opened.  How had he not seen it before?  His broodings over the thought of Maud, the strange disturbance that came on him in her presence, that absurd desire to do or say something impressive, coupled with that wretched diffidence that kept him silent and helpless—­it was love!  He became half dizzy with the thought of what it all meant; and at the same instant, Maud seemed to recede from him as something impossibly pure, sweet, and unapproachable.  All that notion of a paternal close friendship—­ how idiotic it was!  He wanted her, at every moment, to share every thought with her, to claim every thought of hers, to see her, to clasp her close; and then at the same moment came the terrible disillusionment; how was he, a sober, elderly, stiff-minded professional person, to recommend himself?  What was there in him that any girl could find even remotely attractive—­his middle-aged habits, his decorous and conventional mind, his clumsy dress, his grizzled hair?  He felt of himself that he was ravaged with age and decrepitude, and yet in his folly he had suggested this visit, and he had thrown the girl he loved out of her lonely life, craving for sympathy and interest, into a set of young men all apt for passion and emotion.  The thought of Guthrie with his charm, his wealth, his aplomb, fell cold on his heart.  Howard’s swift imagination pictured the mutual attraction of the two, the enchanting discoveries, the laughing sympathy.  Guthrie would, no doubt, come down to Windlow.  It was exactly the kind of match that Mr. Sandys would like for Maud; and this was to be the end of this tragic affair.  How was he to endure the rest of the days of the visit?  This was Tuesday, and they were not to go till Saturday; and he would have to watch the budding of a romance which would end in his choosing Maud a wedding-present, and attending at Windlow Church in the character of the middle-aged squire, beaming through his glasses on the young people.

In such abject reflections the walk passed away.  He crept into College by the side-entrance, settled down to his evening work with grim tenacity, and lost himself in desperate imaginings of all the pleasant things that might be happening to the party.  They were to dine at a restaurant, he believed, and probably Guthrie would be free to join them.

Late that night Jack looked in.  “Is anything the matter?” he said.  “Why didn’t you come to Guthrie’s?  Look here, you are going to play fair, aren’t you?  I can’t do all the entertaining business myself.  I really must have a day off to-morrow, and get some exercise.”

“All right,” said Howard, “I’ll take them on.  Suppose you bring them to luncheon here.  And I will tell you what I will do.  I will be responsible for to-morrow afternoon.  Then on Thursday you shall come and dine here again; and on Friday I will try to get the Master to lunch—­that will smooth things over a bit.”