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full of disappointments, Morse knew that better than most; and, as he half-turned, he watched the two young, lovely ladies as they walked out through the Porter’s Lodge. They must be members of the college- two outward and happily visible signs of the fundamental change of heart that had resulted in the admission of women to these erstwhile wholly. masculine precincts. Now when he himself had been up at St John’s…But, abruptly, he switched off the memories of those dark, disastrous days.
     
    ‘What’ll it be, Morse? No beer, I’m afraid but-gin and tonic-gin and French?’
    ‘Gin and French-lovely!’ Morse reached over and took a cigarette from the well-stocked open box on the table.
    The Master beamed in avuncular fashion as he poured his mixtures with a practised hand. He had changed little in the ten years or so that Morse had known him: going to fat a little, but as distinguished-looking a man now, in his late fifties, as he had been in his late forties; a tall man, with that luxuriant grey hair still framing the large head; the suits (famed throughout the University) as flamboyant as ever they were, and today eye-catchingly complemented by a waistcoat of green velvet. A successful man, and a proud man. A Head of a House.
    ‘You’ve got women here now, I see,’ said Morse.
    ‘Yes, old boy. We were almost the last to give in-but, well, it’s been a good thing on the whole. Very good, some of them.’
    ‘Good-looking, you mean?’
    The Master smiled. ‘A few.’
    ‘They sleep in?’
    ‘Some of them. Still, some of them always did, didn’t they?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said Morse; and his mind drifted back to those distant days just after the war, when he had come up to Oxford with an exhibition in Classics from one of the Midland grammar schools.
    ‘Couple of firsts this year-among the girls, I mean. One in Greats, one in Geography. Not bad, eh? In fact the Classics girl, Jane-’ Suddenly the Master stopped and leaned forward earnestly, awkwardly twiddling the large, onyx dress-ring on the little finger of his left hand. ‘Look Morse! I shouldn’t have said-what I just said. The class-lists won’t be out for another week or ten days-’
    Morse waved his right hand across the space between them, as though any mental recollection of the indiscretion had already been expunged. ‘I didn’t hear a word you said, Master. I know what you were going to tell me, though.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘She’s got the top first in the University, and she’ll soon get a summons for a congratulatory viva. Right?’
    The Master nodded. ‘Super girl-bit of a honey, too, Morse. You’d have liked her.’
    ‘Still would, I shouldn’t wonder.’
    The Master’s eyes were twinkling with merriment now. How he enjoyed Morse’s company!
    ‘She’ll probably marry some lecherous sod,’ continued Morse, ‘and end up with half a dozen whining infants.’
    ‘You’re not exactly full of the joys of summer.’
    ‘Just envious. Still there are more important things in life than getting a first in Greats.’
    ‘Such as?’
    Morse considered the question a few moments before shaking his head. ‘I dunno.’
    ‘I’ll tell you one thing. There’s not likely to be anything much more important for her. We shall probably offer her a junior fellowship here.’
    ‘You mean you’ve already offered her one.’
    ‘Please don’t forget, will you, that I-er-I shouldn’t have said anything about all this. I’m normally very discreet.’
    ‘Must be the drink,’ said Morse, looking down into his empty glass.
    ‘Same again? Mixture about right?’
    ‘Fraction more gin, perhaps?’ Morse reached for another cigarette as the Master refilled the glasses. ‘I suppose she could take her pick of all the undergrads?’
    ‘And the dons!’
    ‘You never married, did you, Master.’
    ‘Nor did you.’
    For some minutes the two of them sat silently sipping. Then Morse asked: ‘Has she got a mother?’
    ‘Jane Summers, you