Bursting into our room, as a fellow does when he is late for anything, I saw at the open window somebody that I thought must be Mr. Brandon’s ghost. It took me aback, and for a moment I stood staring.
“Have you no greeting for me, Johnny Ludlow?”
“I was lost in surprise, sir. I am very glad to see you.”
“I dare say you are!” he returned, as if he doubted my word. “It’s a good half-hour that I have waited here. You’ve been at a breakfast-party!”
He must have got that from the scout. “Not at a party, sir. Gaiton asked us to take our commons up, and breakfast with him in his room.”
“Who is Gaiton?”
“He is Lord Gaiton. One of the students at Christchurch.”
“Never mind his being a lord. Is he any good?”
I could not say Gaiton was particularly good, so passed the question over, and asked Mr. Brandon when he came to Oxford.