When he preached the University sermon he preached in the black gown; while every ambitious cleric who could put a thesis together could flaunt his red and black in the Vice-Chancellor's procession on Sundays in the University church.

The face was one of mingled irony and melancholy, and there came from it sometimes the strangest cackling laugh.
"Well, you must show me this phoenix," he was saying in a nasal voice to Sorell, who had been talking eagerly.

"Young women of the right sort are rare just now." "What do you call the right sort, Master ?" "Oh, my judgment doesn't count.

I only ask to be entertained." "Well, talk to her of Rome, and see if you are not pleased." The Master shrugged his shoulders.
"They can all do it--the clever sort.

They know too much about the Forum.