"I know that. Of course I know that. Ryle's case is only one small instance of the way the wind's blowing. Every one's got to do their share, of course. But in the last three months the place is changed--the Chapter's disorganised, there's rebellion in the Choir, among the Vergers, everywhere. The Cathedral is in pieces. And why? Who's changed everything? Why is nothing as it was three months ago?" "Oh, Lord! what a bore the old man is!" thought Falk. He was in the last possible mood to enter into any of his father's complaints. They seemed now, as he looked across at him, to be miles apart. He felt, suddenly, as though he did not care what happened to his father, nor whether his feelings were hurt or no---- "Well, tell me!" said the Archdeacon, spreading his legs out, putting his hands behind his back and standing over his son. "Who's responsible for the change?" "Oh, I don't know!" said Falk impatiently. "You don't know? No, of course you don't know, because you've taken no interest in the Cathedral nor in anything to do with it. All the same, I should have thought it impossible for any one to be in this town half an hour and _not_ know who's responsible. There's only one man, and that man is Ronder." Unfortunately Falk liked Ronder. "I think Ronder's rather a good sort," he said. "A clever fellow, too." The Archdeacon stared at him. "You like him?" "Yes, father, I do." "And of course it matters nothing to you that he should be your father's persistent enemy and do his best to hinder him in everything and every way possible." Falk smiled, one of those confident, superior smiles that are so justly irritating to any parent. "Oh, come, father," he said. "Aren't you rather exaggerating?" "Exaggerating? Yes, of course you would take the other side. And what do you know about it? There you are, lolling about in your chair, idling week after week, until all the town talks about it----" Falk sprang up. "And whose fault is it if I do idle? What have I been wanting except to go off and make a decent living? Whose fault----?" "Oh, mine, of course!" the Archdeacon shouted. "Put it all down to me! Say that I begged you to leave Oxford, that I want you to laze the rest of your life away. Why shouldn't you, when you have a mother and sister to support you?" "Stop that, father." Falk also was shouting. "You'd better look out what you're saying, or I'll take you at your word and leave you altogether." "You can, for all I care," the Archdeacon shouted back. They stood there facing one another, both of them red in the face, a curious family likeness suddenly apparent between them. "Well, I will then," Falk cried, and rushed from the room, banging the door behind him. Chapter VI Falk's Flight