most deeply in the know hinted at a quarrel with Great Ladies upon the secrets of his trade—and theirs.
At any rate, for another three years after the little episode, George Babcock's name took a new and inferior position in the Daily Press. It appeared in the lists of City dinners, at meetings, at the head of middle-class "leagues" and "movements" that failed. When it was included in the list of a country-house party that party would not be of quite the first flight, and, what was terribly significant to those few who can look with judgment and pity on the modern world, articles signed by the poor fellow began to appear in too great a quantity in the magazines. He even published three books. It was very sad.
Then came the incorporation of the University of Ormeston, or, as people preferred to call it from those early days, the Guelph University, after the name of a patron, and the Prime Minister's private secretary had been sent to suggest, as the head of the Medical School, the name of George Babcock.
He was neither a knight nor a baronet, but Ormeston did not notice that. The old glamour of his name lingered in that prosperous town. A married cousin of the Mayor
