May was taking it quite calmly, and even smiled. "So far, good," said Boreham to himself, and he went on to compare his larger view of life and deeper knowledge of "facts" with the restricted outlook of the Oxford Don. This she apparently accepted as "understood," for she smiled again, and this triumph of Boreham's was achieved while they looked over the Christ Church library.
"The first thing," said Boreham, when they came again into the open air—"the first thing that a man has to do is to be a man of the world that we actually live in, not of the world as it was!"
"Yes," said Mrs. Dashwood "the world we actually live in."
"You agree?" he said brightly.
She smiled again.
"Oxford might have been vitalised; might, I say, if, by good luck, somebody had discovered a coal mine under the Broad, or the High, and the University had been compelled to adjust itself to the practical requirements of the world of labour and of commerce, and to drop its mediæval methods for those of the modern world."
May confessed that she had not thought of this way of improving the ancient University, but she suggested that some of the provincial universities had the advantage of being in the neighbourhood of coal mines or in industrial centres.
Boreham, however, waived the point, for his spirits were rising, and the sight of Bingham in the distance, carrying his table-cloth and slippers and looking wistfully at nothing in particular, gave him increased confidence in his main plan.
"This staircase," said Boreham, "leads to the hall. Shall we go in? I suppose you ought to see it."
"What a lovely roof!" exclaimed May, when they reached the foot of the staircase.