"Well they're not exactly a lot of immigrants."
"Yes they are; immigrants into the domain of my—shall I say intellectuality?"
They laughed a little, and there was a moment's pause. "Tell me about school," he said, abruptly, his voice all changed.
Professor Hastings felt the censorship of Ernestine's eyes upon him as he talked; they travelled with a frightened eagerness from the face of the man who spoke to him who listened. He could see them deepen as they touched dangerous ground, and he wondered how she could go on living with that intensity of feeling.
"Beason is back," he said, in telling of the returnings and the changes.
"Beason!"—Dr. Hubers' voice rang out charged with a significance the older man could not understand. "You say Beason is back?"—the voice then was as if something had broken.
"Yes, it was unexpected. He had thought he would be West this year, but things turned out better than he had expected."
"Yes, he told me—in April, that he would be West this year." As he sank back, his face in repose, Professor Hastings saw something of what the summer had done.
Ernestine's eyes were upon him, a little reproachful, and beseeching. But before he could think of anything redeeming to say two other university men had been admitted.
It was hard at first. Dr. Hubers did not rouse himself to more than the merest conventionality, and all the rest of it was left to his wife, who, however, rose to the situation with a superb graciousness. Finally they touched a topic which roused Karl. His mind reached out to it with his old eagerness and virility, and they were soon in the heat of one of those discussions which wage when men of active mind and kindred interest are brought together.