Paul's porridge grew cold. He sat on with the letter in his hand. Donaldson found him so, calling to go with him to a distant lecture. "Hullo," he said, "not finished brekker? You're late again, four!"
"I say," said Paul, "_The Granta_'s taken that yarn of mine about Egypt."
"By Jove, that's topping." Donaldson spoke enviously, staring at him. "But I told you it was jolly good, didn't I?"
"You did," said Paul, "but I say, what do you think Tressor said last night about my verse?"
His friend whistled. "Damn it all, Paul," he said--"by the way, let me call you 'Paul,' may I?--I should chuck all those preaching and praying stunts of yours now."
"Why on earth----" began Paul, utterly surprised.
"Oh well, do as you think best. But it'll spoil you for literature. Didn't Tressor tell you the other day that your essays were too like sermons? And if you get in with Manning and all that set, Hartley and his crowd won't be of any use."
Paul got up slowly and walked to the fire. He stood still awhile, gazing into it. The other fidgeted. "Come on now, anyway," he said. "We shall be late for that lekker."
"I shan't go this morning. I shall cut it."
"Right-o. Good-bye. I'm off," retorted the other, and departed, a little huffed.
Mrs. Roper came in to clear away. "Aren't you a-going to finish your breakfuss, sir?" she asked.
"I've done, thanks," said Paul. "I don't want any more."
"Off 'is feed," said Mrs. Roper outside to her "help." "'Ad too much at that there feast, I expect. 'Ere, you can 'ave them eggs."
As for Paul, he mounted his bicycle and rode out into the country. A wintry sun lay on the bare woods and stubble fields, and it was all very lovely. Even the close-cropped hedges were beautiful. The fallen beech-leaves were a spread of old gold under the trees by Madingley.
... Doubt, which, like a ghost, In the brain's darkness haunted me, Was thus resolved: Him loved I most, But her I loved most sensibly. Lastly, my giddiest hope allow'd No selfish thought, or earthly smirch; And forth I went, in peace, and proud To take my passion into Church; Grateful and glad to think that all Such doubts would seem entirely vain To her whose nature's lighter fall Made no divorce of heart from brain. COVENTRY PATMORE: _The Angel in the House_.