"We have a reason for meeting late: many of our men come from the North and from Ireland."
"That's no reason, with railroads."
"I see they have begun our rail," said Vincent; "I thought the University had opposed it."
"The Pope in his own states has given in," said Sheffield, "so we may well do the same."
"Don't talk of the Pope," said Vincent, "I'm sick of the Pope."
"The Pope?" said Fusby, overhearing; "have you heard that his Holiness is coming to England?"
"Oh, oh," cried Vincent, "come, I can't stand this. I must go; good night t'you, Carlton. Where's my gown?"
"I believe the Common-Room man has hung it up in the passage;—but you should stop and protect me from Fusby."
Neither did Vincent turn to the rescue, nor did Fusby profit by the hint; so poor Carlton, with the knowledge that he was wanted in his rooms, had to stay a good half-hour tête-à-tête with the latter, while he prosed to him in extenso about Pope Sixtus XIV., the Jesuits, suspected men in the University, Mede on the Apostasy, the Catholic Relief Bill, Dr. Pusey's Tract on Baptism, Justification, and the appointment of the Taylor Professors.
At length, however, Carlton was released. He ran across the quadrangle and up his staircase; flung open his door, and made his way to his inner room. A person was just rising to meet him; impossible! but it was though. "What? Reding!" he cried; "who would have thought! what a pleasure! we were just— ... What brings you here?" he added, in an altered tone. Then gravely, "Reding, where are you?"