LUCIUS MAKES ONE DISCOVERY AND MRS. TOLLER ANOTHER
Lucius was out and about again, not much the worse for his late
encounter, by the time Tuesday came round, when he was to lunch with
his cousin. He was in fairly good spirits as he walked down the King's
Parade and Silver Street, towards the ancient pile of Queens' College.
He and his father were better friends than they had been any time since
Mr. Binney had come into residence at Cambridge. Mr. Binney now
comported himself with the dignity that befitted his years, and no
longer made his son's life a burden to him by those continued
indiscretions which had brought shame and confusion of face to Lucius
in the past. He had restored his full allowance, and Lucius was better
off in pocket than he had been since Mr. Binney had come up. And then
the Newnham girl, to whom somehow he seemed to be getting nearer, now
that he had discovered that she and his cousin were fellow-students,
had distinctly given him a glance of recognition when he had seen her
in King's Chapel on the previous Sunday. It was not much to pride
himself on, certainly, but such as it was he had hugged the thought of
it ever since. She had been sitting with some other girls in the front
row of seats as Lucius walked up the chapel, and he had taken
particular notice of those other girls when he had manoeuvred himself
into a seat opposite her, in case one of them should turn out to be his
cousin.
John Jermyn kept in a charming set of oak-panelled rooms over-looking
the river.
There was an elderly lady sitting in the window seat as Lucius entered,
who rose to greet him. She was tall and graceful, with a sweet face
and grey hair.
"You are very like your dear mother," she said, her eyes growing a
little moist as she looked at him. "We used to be great friends in
days gone by, but that is twenty years ago now."
Lucius sat and talked to her in the window seat, while John Jermyn
wandered about the room with his hands in his pockets casting impatient
glances at the clock on the mantelpiece and the lunch on the table.
"Betty is late," he said. "I told her half-past one, and it is getting
on for a quarter to two."
"We had better not wait any longer," said Mrs. Jermyn, rising. But
just then light steps were heard on the staircase, the door opened, and
disclosed to Lucius's astonished gaze the form and features of the
Newnham girl.
Miss Betty Jermyn came forward, rosy and a little out of breath, with
murmured apologies, kissed her mother and her brother, and then waited
with a deepening blush and a mischievous light in her eyes, to be
introduced to Lucius, for whom the low dark room seemed suddenly to
have become filled with brilliant sunshine.
"This is jour cousin Lucius, Betty," said Mrs. Jermyn, and the two
shook hands, but found no words with which to address one another.
In the course of luncheon it came out in the most natural way that
Betty and Lucius had attended the same lecture in Trinity College all
last term, and remembered one another perfectly.
"But you must have known who I was," said Lucius, a sudden light
breaking in on him, as he remembered those little glances of amusement
which had so thrilled his soul last term. "Gandey always used to read
out our names after the lecture."
"Yes, I knew who you were," said Betty, with a little laugh. "And I
wondered how long it would be before you knew who _I_ was."
Lucius felt that when he was alone again he would be very angry with
himself for not having cultivated the society of his cousin John more
assiduously, and also for having refused Mrs. Jermyn's invitation to
stay with them in the Christmas vacation, but at present he was so
happy that there was no room for regrets.
It was quite apparent to the maternal eyes of Mrs. Jermyn before lunch
was half over that this nice boy with his mother's eyes was head over
ears in love with her pretty little daughter, whom she still looked
upon as a child, in spite of the dignity conferred upon her by a
scholarship at Newnham. Her son, of course, saw nothing of the sort,
but he was pleased to find that his cousin, who was something of a hero
in his eyes, seemed to have taken a fancy to his sister, whom he found
it constantly necessary to keep in her place. He was afraid that Betty
would never learn to show reverence where reverence was due, but it was
a relief to find that Lucius apparently did not take her little
audacities amiss, and indeed seemed to be even amused by them. What
Mrs. Jermyn thought, it would not become us to disclose, but she
accepted Lucius's invitation for the whole party to lunch with him on
the next day, and her cordiality towards him had suffered no diminution
when they parted.
It was curious that Mr. Binney's name was not once mentioned between
them. John Jermyn had given his mother a rather highly coloured
account of our hero's peccadillos, and Betty had added her little
comments, for the fame of Mr. Binney's exploits had penetrated even the
walls of Newnham College.
"Oh, mother," she had said, "you really can't have anything to do with
cousin Peter. He is a horrid little man and leads Lucius such a life,
so everybody says. And Lucius is so popular with all the men. It is a
great shame."
"I never cared for Mr. Binney very much," said Mrs. Jermyn, "but I
should like you to ask Lucius to meet us, John. I should like to see
dear Lucy's boy, although I saw very little of her after her marriage."
So Lucius had come, been seen and had conquered, and went away again
full of delighted wonder at the surprising thing that had happened.
His first desire was to find the sympathetic Dizzy and impart to him
the astounding news. He tracked him down at the racquet courts and
brought him away when he had finished his game.
"I say, old man," he said in as calm a tone as he could muster, "I've
found out the name of that girl at last. What do you think it is?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Dizzy, who had lost his match, and was as
nearly inclined to pessimism as was consistent with his equable nature.
"Henrietta, I should think, or Lulu, or Kate. Parents haven't any
taste nowadays. Look at mine christening me Benjamin. Stubbs is bad
enough, but Benjamin! 'Pon my word I sometimes feel inclined to get it
changed by Act of Parliament."
"Her name is Elizabeth J----"
"Yes, it would be," interrupted Dizzy. "Elizabeth Jones. Just what I
said. Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"I didn't say Elizabeth Jones," said Lucius. "Elizabeth is a very
pretty name, especially when it's shortened to Betty. Her surname
isn't Jones, it's Jermyn."
"Oh, is it? Well, I'm not so sure that--_what_! JERMYN!! You don't
mean to say----?"
"Yes, I do," said Lucius triumphantly. "That very girl is my cousin at
Newnham, and no other."
"Well, I'm blowed!" exclaimed Dizzy. "But there, Lucy, I always told
you if you'd only take the trouble to hunt your cousin down, or rather
up, she'd turn out to be a topper. And I was right. When are you
going to have her to tea?"
"She's coming to lunch to-morrow," said Lucius.
"I'm engaged to-morrow, I'm afraid," said Dizzy. "Going to lunch with
Blathgowrie. I dare say I could get off it, though."
"You needn't try," said Lucius; "but I'll get her to tea some day soon,
before her mother goes away, and then you can come. Oh, my goodness!
What a chance for a fellow! to be head over ears in love with a girl,
and think he's never going to get to know her, and then for her to turn
out to be his own cousin after all."
"Did she say anything about me?" inquired Dizzy.
"About you? No. Why should she?"
"Why shouldn't she, you mean. I'm a very striking looking feller. She
must have noticed me in the lecture-room last term."
"You needn't trouble yourself that she'll waste many thoughts on _you_."
"Oh, all right, old man. Keep your wool on. Now, don't forget to ask
me to tea one of these days. I won't try and cut you out; you can rely
on me."
The remainder of that week passed like a happy dream to Lucius. He
managed to spend some time every day with his cousins, found his way
right inside Mrs. Jermyn's heart, and seemed to make very good headway
up to a certain point with Betty. That is to say, they became
excellent friends, and were on perfectly familiar terms, but at the end
of the week he was no nearer knowing whether she reciprocated his
admiration than at the beginning, for beyond a certain point he was
never allowed to go. When Saturday came, Mrs. Jermyn went away and
left Lucius desolated. But she had already asked him to stay with them
in Norfolk during the Easter vacation, and he was left in by no means
such a state of hopeless longing as before, for he managed to meet his
cousin pretty often during the rest of the term, and although he was
never allowed to enjoy the pleasure of her company for very long, she
seldom met him without a few words of conversation passing between
them, which gave Lucius something to live for now that the University
boat had gone to Putney and left him behind in Cambridge.
Mrs. Jermyn had not been able to avoid Mr. Binney altogether during her
stay at Cambridge. She thought that she ought to see something of him
now that his son seemed likely to become an intimate friend in her
family. Accordingly Mr. Binney was notified of her arrival, and called
on her at the "Bull" where she was staying. Mr. Binney had not yet
recovered from the events narrated in the last two chapters, and was in
a depressed and dull state of mind. He quite forgot to patronize Mrs.
Jermyn on the fact of her son being a scholar of Queens' College, while
he was a pensioner of Trinity, as he certainly would have done a few
months before. Mrs. Jermyn talked chiefly about his wife, and Mr.
Binney, who had been a widower for fifteen years, and had set up the
image of Mrs. Higginbotham in the niche left vacant by the death of
Lucius's mother, followed her lead with some uneasiness of mind. There
was no warmth of feeling between them, and each was mutually relieved
when Mr. Binney rose to take his leave. He apologised for not asking
his cousins to lunch, but explained that he had to be down on the river
early every afternoon, and Mrs. Jermyn was not sorry that the
invitation was not given.
Mr. Binney, of course, still corresponded regularly with Mrs.
Higginbotham. He had refrained from sending her the _New Court
Chronicle_, or, indeed, from mentioning that feature of it which most
nearly concerned him, for some slight sense of dignity, which he had
appeared to have relinquished during the Michaelmas term, had returned
to him, and he was not anxious to have it known that he was treated
with ridicule. He wrote about his work and about the prospects of the
First Trinity first Lent boat, and if his letter did betoken a
depression of spirits, the tender Mrs. Higginbotham put this down to
his separation from her and threw a wealth of affection and sympathy
into her replies, which greatly consoled Mr. Binney during his trying
time. She also expressed herself delighted with the improvement in
conduct displayed by her undergraduate lover, for, although Mrs.
Higginbotham liked to read stories of youthful daring and devilry, when
theory resolved itself into practice her mind recoiled affrighted. Mr.
Binney was fond of imagery, and he often assured Mrs. Higginbotham at
this time that her love and confidence in him was the rock to which he
clung while the waves of adversity buffeted him; it was also an anchor,
and a port, and a city of refuge; a ray of sunshine, a star, a beacon,
a lantern; a refreshing fountain, an oasis in the desert, a cup of cold
water; a buckler, and a good many other things. Mrs. Higginbotham made
no attempt to discover what the waves of adversity were that were
reported to be buffeting Mr. Binney. She liked his poetical method of
expressing himself; she said it made her feel warm all over, and there
she let the matter rest.
But there was a serpent in this garden of mutual esteem. If Mrs.
Higginbotham did not read the _New Court Chronicle_ and was ignorant of
the dreadful things that were being said about her Peter, there was
someone else who was fully acquainted with them.
The day after Mr. Binney's dinner-party in Russell Square, Mrs. Toller
called upon Mrs. Higginbotham, as she had announced her intention of
doing. She waited for ten minutes alone in the drawing-room before
Mrs. Higginbotham made her appearance. The first three or four she
spent in refreshing her memory of the contents of the room. Then,
growing bolder, she inspected the contents of Mrs. Higginbotham's
Davenport writing-table, without, however, discovering anything that
interested her. Thinking she heard a step on the stair she seated
herself quickly beside the fire and snatched up a paper from the little
table by her side. Nobody came, and Mrs. Toller then turning over the
little pile of periodicals, lighted upon the creased copy of the _New
Court Chronicle_ which Mr. Binney had posted from Cambridge.
"Well! upon my word!" exclaimed Mrs. Toller to herself when she had
perused the paragraph in "Madge's Letter" already referred to. She
then turned to the title page of the paper and made a note of the
publisher's address on the little ivory tablet she carried in her
purse. When she had done that she heard Mrs. Higginbotham approaching,
so, hastily burying the _New Court Chronicle_ under the pile and taking
up _The Christian World_ instead, she affected to be so deeply
interested in its varied contents as to be unaware of Mrs.
Higginbotham's approach until that good lady had closed the door behind
her and begun to make apologies for her delay, which had arisen through
the arrival of a dressmaker to "try on."
When Cambridge University had once more got into the swing of term
time, there appeared every Monday morning among Mrs. Toller's
correspondence a wrapper enclosing a paper directed from that ancient
seat of learning. Mrs. Toller always secreted this and opened it after
breakfast when the Doctor had retired to his study, for her
subscription to the _New Court Chronicle_ cost her sixpence halfpenny a
week, which was more than the good Doctor paid for having the _Daily
Chronicle_ served up hot with his breakfast every morning. University
journalism is not apt to afford great entertainment to people outside
the University where it is practised, but Mrs. Toller, although a woman
of economical habits, counted the information which she derived from
the _New Court Chronicle_ cheap at the price which she paid for her
subscription, and looked forward keenly to the budget of news which
arrived for her every Monday morning.
It must not be supposed that Mrs. Toller intended to keep her
information from her excellent husband; she was far too good a wife for
that. What she meant to do was to keep the _New Court Chronicle_ to
herself until the end of the term, in order that Mr. Binney's infamies
might heap themselves up until she had a good budget of scandal to lay
before the Doctor. The game went merrily on for four or five weeks and
there was matter of offence against Mr. Binney enough to have brought
down upon him the wrath of the whole congregation of which he was so
distinguished a member. But Mrs. Toller's appetite, whetted by the
disclosure she had already surprised, thirsted for more. More she
would have had, for Mr. Piper had got his hand thoroughly in, but, as
we know, the _New Court Chronicle_ had come to an untimely end, and
great was Mrs. Toller's disappointment when she received, one Monday
morning, instead of the journal she had so looked forward to during the
whole of the Sunday's religious exercises, a letter from the publisher
informing her that the publication had ceased, and that he begged to
return to her the remainder of the term's subscription. However, there
was quite enough upon which to act.
The Doctor retired to his study as usual after breakfast. Mrs. Toller
got her daughter out of the way, produced the numbers she had already
received, and refreshed her memory of the whole of the "Binney
Correspondence." Then she sought her husband, who was taking a
well-earned rest after his Sabbath labours over a novel, which he
hastily secreted upon the entrance of his wife.
"What's that you're reading, Samuel?" said Mrs. Toller. "I shouldn't
waste my time over that trash if I were you. I've got an important
matter to talk to you about."
Dr. Toller breathed a sigh of resignation. He knew those important
matters. If they were not complaints of the behaviour of various
members of his congregation, they were generally household matters
which Mrs. Toller could very well have settled for herself.
"You know how deep an interest I take in the welfare of the church,"
began Mrs. Toller, seating herself in the easy chair by the side of the
fire.
Dr. Toller knew only too well. "Yes, my dear, certainly," he said.
"I should be very sorry," pursued Mrs. Toller, "if any scandal occurred
through the behaviour of one of our most prominent members, especially
when he happens to be a deacon."
"Yes, my dear," interrupted Dr. Toller hastily, "but I think that is
hardly likely to happen. All our deacons are men of irreproachable
character."
"I am not so sure about that," said Mrs. Toller. "There is one of them
who seems to be rapidly treading the broad road, and if he is not very
sharply pulled up, I tremble to think of the catastrophe that may
occur."
"Oh, nonsense, my dear," said Dr. Toller. "You must surely be
exaggerating. There is an occasional tendency towards undue
interference on the part of our officers, who are some of them men of
more money than brains, although I wouldn't for the world have it known
that I said so. But I have no reason to dread anything worse than
that. You have got hold of some trivial matter and are magnifying it
in your mind--quite unintentionally, I am sure," he added hastily,
observing the ominous stiffening of Mrs. Toller's upper lip, "and with
the best of intentions, I am sure."
"I am not aware," said Mrs. Toller, drawing herself up, "that
drunkenness is a trivial matter, Samuel, or revelry. If it is so, I
have misread the meaning of Scripture, and I should be glad to be
corrected."
"Of course, my dear," said Dr. Toller, "such things are very dreadful,
but you have surely no reason to charge one of our deacons with
such--er--crimes."
"Read the passages I have marked with blue pencil in these papers,"
said Mrs. Toller, rising and handing the doctor her little bundle of
ephemeral journalism. "And then say if you can justly accuse me of
exaggeration, which I beg to say is not a habit of mine. I will leave
you for a quarter of an hour and then return."
When Mrs. Toller did return she found the Doctor chuckling over some of
the humorous sallies of Mr. Piper's young lions.
"Samuel!" she exclaimed, "is that the fashion in which you treat a
serious matter like this? Such ill-timed levity is surely out of
place."
"Quite so, my dear, quite so," said her husband, his face instantly
becoming serious. "I was not laughing at the news about Mr. Binney,
which I finished perusing some time ago. Some of these young men are
very clever. But really, with regard to Mr. Binney, I fully share your
feeling, my dear. Mr. Binney has always been rather erratic, curiously
so for a man of his years and position, but I could never have believed
that this sort of thing would happen. I--I--hardly know what to say
about it. But how did you get hold of these papers?"
"Never mind that," said Mrs. Toller firmly. "We must act, and act
promptly so as to save scandal."
Dr. Toller disliked acting at all on Monday morning, but he saw that
his wife was not to be trifled with, and said, "Certainly. Yes. I
quite agree with you. What shall I do?"
"You must go up to Cambridge instantly, and remonstrate with the
misguided man."
Dr. Toller looked blank. "Do you think that is necessary?" he asked.
"I should have thought a letter would have answered the purpose."
"Not at all," said Mrs. Toller. "Mr. Binney is in that state of mind
in which he would take no notice of a letter. Severe expostulation and
ghostly advice are what he wants. He must be checked in his profligate
career at all costs, or worse may come of it. I should go with you,
but I have my mothers' meeting this afternoon, and I am not one to
neglect my duty."
"But, surely, my dear," exclaimed the Doctor, "you would not wish me to
go to Cambridge to-day?"
"Certainly I should," replied Mrs. Toller. "Why procrastinate? And
yet, I don't know. To-morrow perhaps I could accompany you. Perhaps
there is no necessity."
"If it has to be done," said Dr. Toller, "perhaps it had better be done
to-day. It is not a pleasant business, but I agree with you that the
gravity of the occasion demands immediate action, and I shall not
shrink from taking it. I am really astounded at the disclosures made
in these papers. If the extraordinary course Mr. Binney appears to
have taken were to come to the ears of the church committee, I don't
know what would happen. I will go to Cambridge after the ladies' Bible
class this afternoon, and I think I will stay the night, my dear. I
should like to have a look round the colleges, that is if you have no
objection."
"Yes, you can do that," said Mrs. Toller, "if you like. And you might
call on Lucius and see how he is behaving himself, and on young
Bromley, at Emmanuel College. And mind, Samuel, I shall expect a full
account from you when you return home."
So Dr. Toller packed his bag and traveled up to Cambridge by the five
o'clock train. He drove first of all to Corpus, where he had a friend
among the Fellows. He was persuaded to dine in Hall before he set out
on his visit to Mr. Binney, and enjoyed himself exceedingly at the High
Table, and in the Combination room afterwards. He did not disclose his
object in coming up to Cambridge, but heard quite enough about the
extraordinary career of Mr. Binney, who enjoyed considerable notoriety
at the University, to persuade him that his visit of expostulation was
really needed. About nine o'clock he told his host that he wished to
call on an undergraduate, and putting on his clerical cloak and hat, he
went round to Trinity College, where he was directed by the porter to
Mr. Binney's rooms in Jesus Lane.