"I thought you hadn't one," said Chard.
"Don't be obvious. I'm angry, my god, I'm angry."
He was asked to explain.
"Steel-Brockley asked me to go to coffee in his rooms and when I got there I found he had provided a lecturer gassing about the value of faith for us."
"Well," said Davenant, "that was very considerate of our Brockley."
"Exactly. But he might have warned me. It didn't matter. I couldn't stick it long."
"I should think not. It's barely a half-an-hour since dinner now."
"What happened?" asked Martin.
"It was like this," began Lawrence. "Brockley produced a battered chap from the colonies, all pockmarks and freckles, you know the type. Of course he began, as they always do, by saying that he had seen men die in all parts of the world and they all died the better for their faith. None of them seemed to live, or else he had a morbid mind and likes death. I don't know. Anyhow he had the cheek to say that King's spiritual life wasn't as strong as it had been. He was deeply concerned about us. He whined about us. He thought we were all going to the devil because the scholars have taken to cutting chapel. Just imagine a little tick like that coming here to tell us, whom he doesn't know, that we're not so soulful as the clean young men out West. Thank god we're not. I gave him about ten minutes and cleared out."
There was a murmur of delight.