'Have you heard the latest romance in high life, Babe?' he observed, as they were leaving the court. 'But of course you haven't. You never do hear anything.'
'Well?' asked the Babe, patiently.
'You know Dacre?'
'I seem to have heard the name somewhere.'
'He's going to be married.'
'Yes. Don't trouble to try and look interested. You're one of those offensive people who mind their own business and nobody else's. Only I thought I'd tell you. Then you'll have a remote chance of understanding my quips on the subject in next week's Glow Worm. You laddies frae the north have to be carefully prepared for the subtler flights of wit.'
'Thanks,' said the Babe, placidly. 'Good-night.'
The Headmaster intercepted the Babe a few days after he was going home after a scratch game of football. 'MacArthur,' said he, 'you pass Mr Dacre's House, do you not, on your way home? Then would you mind asking him from me to take preparation tonight? I find I shall be unable to be there.' It was the custom at St Austin's for the Head to preside at preparation once a week; but he performed this duty, like the celebrated Irishman, as often as he could avoid it.
The Babe accepted the commission. He was shown into the drawing-room. To his consternation, for he was not a society man, there appeared to be a species of tea-party going on. As the door opened, somebody was just finishing a remark.
'... faculty which he displayed in such poems as "Sordello",' said the voice.
The Babe knew that voice.
He would have fled if he had been able, but the servant was already announcing him. Mr Dacre began to do the honours.
'Mr MacArthur and I have met before,' said Miss Beezley, for it was she. 'Curiously enough, the subject which we have just been discussing is one in which he takes, I think, a great interest. I was saying, Mr MacArthur, when you came in, that few of Tennyson's
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