a fertile wit, and he had been nominated the first operator. He
had been allowed the whole Christmas vacation to prepare his
opening chapter; which was why on this first Sunday of term while
the rest of Merton College was at dinner in hall, he sat at his
desk desperately driving his pen across the paper. Forbes's room in Fellows' Quad was one of those that had housed
Queen Henrietta Maria in 1643, and though Forbes's own tastes
were nondescript the chamber still had something of an air. The
dark wood panelling might well have done honour to a royal
lodger, and a motion-picture producer would have coveted it as a
background for Mary Pickford. It was unspoiled by pictures: two
or three political maps of Europe, sketchily drawn with coloured
crayons, were pinned up here and there. The room was a typical
Oxford apartment: dark, a little faded, but redeemed by the grate
of glowing coals. Behind the chimney two recessed seats looked
out over the college gardens; long red curtains were drawn to
shut out the winter draughts. It was the true English January--
driving squalls of rain, dampness, and devastating chill. The
east wind brought the booming toll from Magdalen tower very
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