Sitting opposite across the fire, Paul took stock of his companion who did the major part of the talking. Donaldson was a busy personage and an unfamiliar type to Paul. It soon appeared that he held a missionary bursarship from a society which Paul called "high church"; that he was not, however, at all keen on a missionary vocation; that the fact that he was to be a "priest" (as he put it) did not proscribe his pleasures to any great extent; and that he was very sure of himself. Much of his conversation was unintelligible to Paul, but he was friendly, and the boy was more lonely than he knew. They went down to Hall together seemingly the best of friends, but Paul was already aware that he was wading in unfamiliar waters. His first Hall was responsible for a series of indelible impressions. The lovely old room, lit only by candles in great silver sconces, with its sombre portraits, its stone-flagged floor, its arching roof, made him unutterably proud. The few shy freshers in an oasis of light, emphasised the dignity of the place. This was his Hall. A solitary fellow at the high table read a Latin grace in which Paul understood only the Sacred Name, and that was repeated with what struck him as a familiarity, an indifference, to which he was wholly a stranger. Accustomed to the simplest meals, the dinner (rather unusually good at St. Mary's), and the many waiters seemed grand to him. The comparative ease of his companions, who nevertheless, being all freshers, eyed each other curiously, made him self-conscious to a degree, and Donaldson, more at his ease than anyone, seemed in his eyes to be bold and daring. Next him, on the other side, sat a quiet man sombrely dressed, who, he gathered, had been a day-boy like himself at a lesser public school, and who introduced himself as Strether. He kept in the Second Court. The three came out together, and Strether asked them up to his rooms for coffee. The clock in the Elizabethan gable above the Hall was striking eleven as he and Donaldson, the ritual of that first coffee ended, came out into the starlight. Below, in the First Court, they stood a moment to say good-night. Lights gleamed in a few windows and a soft radiance of moonshine fell on the armorial bearings in the great oriel of the Hall. The few street noises seemed very remote. There was an air of seclusion, of peace, about the place, and Paul drew in the night air with great breaths. "How unutterably lovely it all is!" he exclaimed. The other glanced round carelessly. "Yes," he said, "I say, that fellow Strether wants taking in hand." "Oh?" queried Paul dubiously. "Good God, yes. Did you ever see such boots? And his bags! But he's got some money, I should say. Still, one can't be seen with him till he gets something decent to wear." "I liked him," said Paul shortly. "Oh so did I. But look here, let's pinch his boots and make him buy some decent brogues." Paul was tickled. "All right," he said, laughing. "But how?"