"Rather," said the young man again. "Are all the folk going strong?" "Yes. Mr. Vintner is secretary of the Missionary Committee in your place. He's coming on well." "Vintner!" exclaimed Paul. But he was ashamed of his instinctive thought the next moment. "Splendid," he said. Mr. Derrick nodded. "He gave a most helpful address on Henry Martyn last week.... Thank you, Mr. Kestern. Are those the books? I'll go through them to-night and let you have them on Sunday. I don't suppose it'll take me long. Good-night. Good-night, Mr. Paul." The clergyman thanked him and saw him out. "Capital fellow," he said, entering the dining-room. "Wait till you're ordained, Paul, and you'll know what such lay help means to a clergyman. Well, dear boy, and how are you? Really I think you've grown. What do you think, mother?" "I've been admiring his fancy waistcoat," said Mrs. Kestern. "Where did you get it, Paul?" (2) Paul was soon aware that he was in for a delightful vacation. Not many young men in their circle went to the University, and none at all, naturally, from among "the workers." Paul was, therefore, lionised. It was impossible for him not to be aware of it. He had always been a kind of natural leader, but he was now something more. A glamour sat about him. It was possibly Miss Ernest who made him aware of it first. She was to play at the Mission Hall that first Sunday night, and Paul called for her to take her down through the dark, slummy streets. She kept him waiting some minutes, and when she came down, she was most unusually resplendent even for her. "How do you do?" she said, shaking hands and smiling. "Do you know, I hardly dare call you Paul now?" "Why ever not?" he asked, closing the house door behind her. "You're so much older," she said. "Two months, Madeline," he protested, using her name deliberately. "Is that all? It seems to me that you've been away ages." Paul glanced at her. She was entirely demure, and did not look at him. "Well," he confessed, "it seems a long time to me too. It's curious how quickly Cambridge changes things. I hardly feel the same as I did two months ago." "I suppose you've met all sorts of ripping people." "Rather. Do you know Mr. Tressor's at our college, and I've shown him my verses. He said--he was awfully nice about them. And _The Granta_ has taken a story of mine." "I'm not surprised," she said. "I always thought you had it in you." Paul was a little piqued that she took it so easily, though on reflection he perceived that this was a compliment. "It is impossible not to write at St. Mary's," he said. "Is it very lovely?" she asked softly. "Oh, exquisite. You must see. Do you think you could come up in the summer term? My rooms are small and high up you know, but perfect I think. And the Hall and Chapel thrill me every time I see them. If you could see the moonlight on our First Court!" "Doesn't Claxted bore you after all that?"