"Not married by any chance?" said the assistant suddenly, after an attentive study of Lewisham's face.
"Well—er." Lewisham met Mr. Blendershin's eye. "Yes," he said.
The assistant was briefly unprintable. "Lord! you'll have to keep that dark," said Mr. Blendershin. But you have got a tough bit of hoeing before you. If I was you I'd go on and get my degree now you're so near it. You'll stand a better chance."
Pause.
"The fact is," said Lewisham slowly and looking at his boot toes, "I must be doing something while I am getting my degree."
The assistant whistled softly.
"Might get you a visiting job, perhaps," said Mr. Blendershin speculatively. "Just read me those items again, Binks." He listened attentively. "Objects to religious teaching!—Eh?" He stopped the reading by a gesture. "That's nonsense. You can't have everything, you know. Scratch that out. You won't get a place in any middle-class school in England if you object to religious teaching. It's the mothers—bless 'em! Say nothing about it. Don't believe—who does? There's hundreds like you, you know—hundreds. Parsons—all sorts. Say nothing about it—"
"But if I'm asked?"
