Only--and here a sudden spasm went through his frame, as he looked round on his guests--did he really wish to become a married man? Did he want to be obliged to be always with one woman, to be obliged to pay calls with her, dine out with her? Did he want to explain where he was going when he went by himself, and to give her some notion as to the hour when he would return, and to leave his address with her if he stayed away for a night? No! Marriage was a gross imposition on humanity, as his brother had discovered twice over. The woman in the world who would tempt him into harness would have to be exquisitely fascinating! But then--and this was the point--May Dashwood _had_ just that peculiar charm! Boreham's eyes were now resting on her face. She was sitting on his left, next Mrs. Harding, and Bingham's black head was bent and he was saying something to her that made her smile. Boreham wished that he had put Harding, the married man, next her! Harding was commonplace! Harding was safe! Look at Harding doing his duty with Mrs. Potten! Useful man, Harding! But Bingham was a bachelor, and not safe! And so the luncheon went on, and Boreham talked disconnectedly because he forgot the thread of his argument in his keenness to hear what May Dashwood and Bingham were saying to each other. He tried to drag in Bingham and force him to talk to the table, but his efforts were fruitless. Bingham merely looked absently and sweetly round the table, and then relapsed into talk that was inaudible except to his fair neighbour. Gwendolen Scott watched the table silently, and wondered how it was they found so much to talk about. Harding did not intend to waste any time in talking to an Oxford person. He put his elbow on the table on her side and conversed with Mrs. Potten. He professed interest in her agricultural pursuits, told her that he liked digging in the rain, and by the time lunch was over he had solemnly emphasised his opinion that the cricket bat and the shot gun and the covert and the moderate party in the Church of England were what made our Empire great. Mrs. Potten approved these remarks, and said that she was surprised and pleased to hear such sound views expressed by any one from Oxford. She was afraid that very wild and democratic views were not only tolerated, but born and bred in Oxford. She was afraid that Oxford wasn't doing poor, dear, clever Bernard any good, though she was convinced that the "dear Warden" would not tolerate any foolishness, and she was on the point of rising when her movements were delayed by the shock of hearing Mr. Bingham suddenly guffaw with extraordinary suavity and gentleness. She turned to him questioningly.