“You’ll all come to my _viva_, of course,” Gav had said to the assembled house party at Malmaison Lodge. “David will give you the tickets. It’s at six o’clock (do be punctual, Mums!)--and it’ll all be over in time for us to change before dinner here at seven.” “You’re sure it won’t last too long, Gav darling. You mustn’t tire yourself,” Lady Penhaligon’s voice was heard above the delighted murmurs of assent. “No, mother dear,” Gav laughed, “I’m seeing to that.” And certainly all felt that, for one who had easily borne off the palm in all his university contests, this examination could be no more than a quaint scholastic formality. Else indeed it had been an insult for the winner of Craven and Brackenbury to be cross-examined in the lamentably late Greek of Peter and Paul. And everyone looked forward to the party which was to follow the ordeal. Breakfast was hardly over, but already they could hear Mrs. Grimaldi, eager to show her mettle, cluttering busily about her tiny Carolean scullery, and already the most seductive odours of mayonnaise and cucumber salad were floating gradually upwards. Six o’clock came, and before the eyes of friends and family and many unknown admirers, Gaveston faced his examiners. “Your papers on the Gospels were excellent, Mr. ffoulis,” said their spokesman, a former Bishop of Tristan da Cunha obliged to retire for his toleration of ritualistic practices in Outer Polynesia. “And on the Acts also. But there is one little point which--hm--I should like you to elucidate for us. That is--hm--what is your, shall I say?--authority for the statement that Festus and Felix are the same person?” For a moment Gaveston paused, as if thoroughly weighing the significance of his answer. “Renan,” he replied firmly. “Ernest Renan. Good afternoon, gentlemen.” And lo! he was gone before the bewildered examiners had recovered from the appalling shock. Only the ex-Bishop of Tristan da Cunha, long inured to the wildest heresies, kept his head. Over the confused sound of protesting voices his stern tones were only too audible. “You have failed to satisfy the examiners, Mr. ffoulis.” [Illustration: “RENAN,” HE REPLIED FIRMLY] Gaveston ffoulis had failed in Divvers! Was it possible? There was an uproar. Mongo, seated with the privileged spectators, had difficulty in preventing Lady Julia from making a personal appeal to the examiners, and David was similarly engaged with Lady Blandula. But, meanwhile, Gaveston himself was strolling back to Malmaison Lodge, with the glow of conscious triumph all over his distinguished features.… * * * * *