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He suddenly realized the existence
of a world beyond his college walls; it made him feel like a hot-house
flower exposed to the blustering winds of March. Life was no longer a
hurdle in a steeple-chase to be taken at a gallop; it was a tangle of
beastly facts that stared you in the face and refused to get out of the
way. With growing years, during vacation, he came in contact with a new
set of people; men who smiled indulgently at mention of all he held
most sacred--art, classics, literature; men who were plainly not insane
and yet took up incomprehensible professions of one kind or
another--took them up with open eyes and unfeigned zest, and actually
prospered at them in a crude worldly fashion.
He shrank at first from their society, consoling himself with the
reflection that, being bounders, it did not matter whether they
succeeded or not. But this explanation did not hold good for long. They
were not bounders--not all of them. People not only dined with them:
they asked them to dinner. Quite decent fellows, in fact.


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