What a hard and glittering mind the fellow had!--extraordinarily competent and well-trained; extraordinarily lacking, as it seemed to Sorell, in width or pliancy, or humanity.

One of the ablest essays sent in, however, was a paper by Falloden on the "Sentimentalisms of Democracy"-- in which a reasoned and fierce contempt for the popular voice, and a brilliant glorification of war and of a military aristocracy, made very lively reading.
On the later occasion, when Sorell and Constance met during the week, he found Radowitz in the Hoopers' drawing-room.

Sorell had gone in after dinner to consult with Ewen Hooper, one of his fellow examiners, over some doubtful papers, and their business done, the two men allowed themselves an interval of talk and music with the ladies before beginning work again till the small hours.
Constance, in diaphanous black, was at the piano, trying to recall, for Radowitz's benefit, some of the Italian folk-songs that had delighted the river-party.

The room was full of a soft mingled light from the still uncurtained windows and the lamp which had been just brought in.
It seemed to be specially concentrated on the hair, "golden like ripe corn," of the young musician, and on Connie's white neck and arms.
Radowitz lay back in a low chair gazing at her with all his eyes.
On the further side of the room Nora was reading, Mrs.Hooper was busy with the newspaper, and Alice and Herbert Pryce were talking with the air of people who are, rather uncomfortably, making up a quarrel.
Sorell spent his half-hour mostly in conversation with Mrs.Hooper and Nora, while his inner mind wondered about the others.

He stood with his back to the mantelpiece, his handsome pensive face, with its intensely human eyes, bent towards Nora, who was pouring out to him some grievances of the "home-students," to which he was courteously giving a jaded man's attention.
When he left the room Radowitz broke out-- "Isn't he like a god ?" Connie opened astonished eyes.
"Who ?" "My tutor--Mr.Sorell.