Their eyes met, curiously interlocked for a moment.

Sir George wondered to himself where the dooce he had seen that, type of face before, those grey eyes with the dark lashes.

"Gad! he reminds me of Kitty Warren! Well, I'll be damned" (he was eventually) "I wonder whether the old gal had a son as well as that spitfire Vivie ?!" Michael whispered a word or two to one of the Masters, and David was presently summoned to attend the Benchers and their distinguished guests in the inner chamber to which they withdrew for wine and dessert.

Rossiter made room for him, and he had to drink a glass of port with the Benchers.

Every one was very gracious.