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‘I wonder if he’d let me go over the house.’
‘I expect he would if you explain who you are.’
It was not till the end of dinner that evening that any ref-
erence was made in the common-room to the subject that
was in all their minds. Then it was Sighs who asked:
‘Well, what did you think of our new head?’ They thought
of the conversation at luncheon. It was hardly a conversa-
tion; it was a monologue. Perkins had talked incessantly.
He talked very quickly, with a flow of easy words and in a
deep, resonant voice. He had a short, odd little laugh which
showed his white teeth. They had followed him with dif-
ficulty, for his mind darted from subject to subject with a
connection they did not always catch. He talked of peda-
gogics, and this was natural enough; but he had much to
say of modern theories in Germany which they had nev-
er heard of and received with misgiving. He talked of the
classics, but he had been to Greece, and he discoursed of
archaeology; he had once spent a winter digging; they could
not see how that helped a man to teach boys to pass exami-
nations, He talked of politics. It sounded odd to them to
hear him compare Lord Beaconsfield with Alcibiades. He
talked of Mr. Gladstone and Home Rule. They realised that
he was a Liberal. Their hearts sank. He talked of German
philosophy and of French fiction. They could not think a
man profound whose interests were so diverse.
It was Winks who summed up the general impression and
put it into a form they all felt conclusively damning. Winks
was the master of the upper third, a weak-kneed man with
drooping eye-lids, He was too tall for his strength, and his

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