"Oh! rot, don't go in yet. We're thinking of going round and paying Bunning a visit in another ten minutes. He's going to have a whole lot of men in for a prayer-meeting. Thompson's just brought word."
Thompson, a wretched creature in the Second Year, who had, during his first term, been of the pious persuasion and had since turned traitor, offered an eager assurance.
The news obviously tempted Lawrence. He moved his body slowly round.
"Well," he said slowly, then he turned to Olva. "You'll come?" he said.
"No, thanks," said Olva shortly. "Bunning's been ragged about enough. There's nothing the matter with the man."
Cardillac's voice was amused. "Well, Dune, I daresay we can get on without you," he said.
Lawrence said slowly, "Well, I don't know. P'raps it's mean on the man. I want a drink. I don't think I'm havin' any to-night, Cards."
Cardillac was sharper. "Oh, nonsense, Lawrence, come along. It doesn't do the man any harm."
"It frightens the fellow out of his wits," said Dune sharply. "You wouldn't like it yourself if you had a dozen fellows tumbling down upon your rooms and chucking your things out of the window."
Rupert Craven said: "Well, I'm off anyhow. Work for me." He vanished into the shadow.
Lawrence nodded. "Good-bye, Cards, old man. Go and play your old bridge or something--leave the wretched Bunnin' to his prayers."
The first thing that Lawrence said when they were lounging comfortably in his worn but friendly chairs hit Olva, expecting peace here at any rate, like a blow.
"Fellers have forgotten Carfax damn quick."
In that good-natured face there was no suspicion, but Olva seemed to see there a curiosity, even an excitement.
"Fellers," said Lawrence again, "aren't clever in this College. They get their firsts in Science--little measly pups from Board Schools who don't clean their teeth--and there are one or two men who can row a bit and play footer a bit and play cricket a bit--I grant you all that--but they _aren't_ clever--not what I call clever."
Olva waited for the development of Lawrence's brain.
"Now at St. Martin's they'll talk. They'll sit round a fire the whole blessed evenin' talkin'--about whether there's a God or isn't a God, about whether they're there or aren't there, about whether women are rotten or not, about jolly old Greece and jolly old Rome--_I_ know. That's the sort o' stuff you could go in for--damn interestin'. I'd like to listen to a bit of it, although they'd laugh if they heard me say so, but what I'm gettin' at is that there ain't any clever fellers in this old bundle o' bricks, and Carfax's death proves it."