Paul got eagerly to his feet. "Do come in," he said. "Have you had lunch? Oh well, do have some. It's only a scratch affair, but there's enough to go round." (He burrowed in the cupboard for plates and a knife.) "I'm tubbing early, so I have to hurry. Awfully good of you to call. Of course I've heard of you." The other took a seat at the table. He had frank keen eyes and paused a second for grace. Paul was suddenly aware that he himself had said none. He pushed the cheese towards his guest and began to cut bread. "I'm glad you're up here," said Hartley. "We haven't a college secretary in St. Mary's and I hope you'll take it on. Then I've been wondering if you'd help me with something on Sunday. I run a children's service at St. Saviour's schools in the mornings, and I'd be awfully grateful if you'd lend me a hand. The Committee want to put your name down too for the open-airs on Parker's Piece. They hold one there every Sunday night, you know." Paul smiled warmly. The atmosphere of Claxted had come in with the visitor. "I'll be delighted to help," he said, "but you've outlined a pretty tall programme for the first five minutes." "Oh no," said Hartley. "You're used to all that kind of thing, I know." "How did you come to hear of my being up?" queried Paul. "I was on a Children's Seaside Mission at Eastbourne last August, and met Mr. Ernest. He told me you were coming up. Miss Ernest played for us sometimes. She sang your praises sky-high." Paul blushed, but it was very pleasant to hear of the home folk this way. They were deep in talk when a clamour of ascending feet sounded on the stairs and Donaldson was heard without shouting breezily: "Kestern! Kestern! Four, you're late! Damn it all, sir" (bursting open the door), "you're late again. Oh--I beg your pardon." "May I introduce you?" said Paul. "Mr. Hartley of Jesus, Mr. Donaldson of this college." "How do you do?" said Donaldson, smiling characteristically. "Awfully sorry. Didn't know anyone was here." "Oh, that's all right," replied Hartley. "I was just going. You are both tubbing, are you? Well, Kestern, Sunday at eleven, eh? Will you give the address?" "Right," said Paul. "Ten minutes?" "Yes--not longer. Cheerio. Good luck on the river." And he went out. "Who's that?" demanded Donaldson. "Pal of yours? He looks a bit of an ass to me." Paul explained, reaching for his cap and stick. "Gosh! So you're preaching on Sunday, are you? He won't get me, anyway." "Don't suppose he'll ask you," said Paul. "Where's Gus Strether?" "Gussie? Waiting below, I expect. He was ordering tea for three at the kitchens when I came up." "Well, let's go. We haven't much time if we're walking down together."