 instincts; he resented this appearance of
inferiority to people who came at their leisure, and took seats in the better
parts of the house. When a neighbour addressed him with a meaningless joke which
defied grammar, he tried to grin a friendly answer, but inwardly shrank. The
events of the day had increased his sensibility to such impressions. Had he
triumphed over Bruno Chilvers, he could have behaved this evening with a larger
humanity.
    The fight for entrance - honest British stupidity, crushing ribs and rending
garments in preference to seemly order of progress - enlivened him somewhat, and
sent him laughing to his conquered place; but before the curtain rose he was
again depressed by the sight of a familiar figure in the stalls, a
fellow-student who sat there with mother and sister, black-uniformed, looking
very much a gentleman. »I, of course, am not a gentleman,« he said to himself,
gloomily. Was there any chance that he might some day take his ease in that
orthodox fashion? Inasmuch as it was conventionality, he scorned it; but the
privileges which it represented had strong control of his imagination. That lady
and her daughter would follow the play with intelligence. To exchange comments
with them would be a keen delight. As for him - he had a shop-boy on one hand
and a grocer's wife on the other.
    By the end he had fallen into fatigue. Amid clamour of easily-won applause
he made his way into the street, to find himself in a heavy downpour of rain.
Having no umbrella, he looked about for a sheltered station, and the glare of a
neighbouring public-house caught his eye; he was thirsty, and might as well
refresh body and spirit with a glass of beer, an unwonted indulgence which had
the pleasant semblance of dissipation. Arrived at the bar he came upon two
acquaintances, who, to judge by their flushed cheeks and excited voices, had
been celebrating jovially the close of their academic labours. They hailed him.
    »Hollo, Peak! Come and help us to get sober before bedtime!«
    They were not exactly studious youths, but neither did they belong to the
class that Godwin despised, and he had a comrade-like feeling for them. In a few
minutes his demeanour was wholly changed. A glass of hot whisky acted promptly
upon his nervous system, enabled him to forget vexations, and attuned him to
kindred sprightliness. He entered merrily into the talk of a time of life which
is independent of morality - talk distinct from that of the blackguard, but
equally so from
