Портрет художника в юности

           TemplebenteagerlyacrossCranly’sbreastandsaid:

           —DidyouhearMacAlisterwhathesaid?Thatyouthisjealousofyou.Didyouseethat?IbetCranlydidn’tseethat.Byhell,Isawthatatonce.

           Astheycrossedtheinnerhall,thedeanofstudieswasintheactofescapingfromthestudentwithwhomhehadbeenconversing.Hestoodatthefootofthestaircase,afootontheloweststep,histhreadbaresoutanegatheredabouthimfortheascentwithwomanishcare,noddinghisheadoftenandrepeating:

           —Notadoubtofit,MrHackett!Veryfine!Notadoubtofit!

           Inthemiddleofthehalltheprefectofthecollegesodalitywasspeakingearnestly,inasoftquerulousvoice,withaboarder.Ashespokehewrinkledalittlehisfreckledbrowandbit,betweenhisphrases,atatinybonepencil.

           —Ihopethematricmenwillallcome.Thefirstarts’menareprettysure.Secondarts,too.Wemustmakesureofthenewcomers.

           TemplebentagainacrossCranly,astheywerepassingthroughthedoorway,andsaidinaswiftwhisper:

           —Doyouknowthatheisamarriedman?hewasamarriedmanbeforetheyconvertedhim.Hehasawifeandchildrensomewhere.Byhell,Ithinkthat’sthequeerestnotionIeverheard!Eh?

           Hiswhispertrailedoffintoslycacklinglaughter.