proclaiming, in all the glory of blue piped trousers which completely hid his boots, that he was now seated on Parnassus.

Ilinka — who had surprised me by giving me a bow not only cold, but supercilious, as though to remind me that here we were all equals — was just in front of me, with his legs resting in free and easy style on another bench (a hit, somehow I thought, at myself), and conversing with a student as he threw occasional glances in my direction. Iwin’s set by my side were talking in French, yet every word which I overheard of their conversation seemed to me both stupid and incorrect (“Ce n’est pas francais,” I thought to myself), while all the attitudes, utterances, and doings of Semenoff, Ilinka, and the rest struck me as uniformly coarse, ungentlemanly, and