NEMESIS
Dr. Toller left Mr. Binney an hour afterwards, chastened and repentant.
The full enormity of his crime had been brought home to him. His only
plea was that this was the first time such a dreadful thing had
happened. Dr. Toller did not refer in direct terms to the _New Court
Chronicle_, as he remembered in time that his wife had not told him
before he left home how its numbers had fallen into her hands. But he
drew from Mr. Binney an account of the occurrences of the term, and
amongst them of the attack that Piper had made upon him in his paper.
"I went in for revelry to some extent last term," Mr. Binney explained,
"but, even then, nothing of the sort that happened last night took
place. This term my life has been hitherto irreproachable, and I did
not deserve these attacks."
Dr. Toller was pleased to hear it. Poor Mr. Binney was so ashamed of
himself and looked such a pitiable object bundled up in his armchair
with a despairing look on his white face and black rings under his
eyes, that he readily promised to keep the account of the previous
night's orgie from Mr. Binney's friends in Bloomsbury, and before he
went gave the repentant sinner full absolution and a great deal of very
good advice.
When the doctor had removed himself it was time for Mr. Binney to call
on the Proctor, who was a Fellow of Jesus College. Mr. Binney crawled
along down the sunny side of the lane feeling very miserable. But the
interview was not quite so painful as he had imagined. The Proctor was
a young man with a keen sense of humour. He tried to impart a fitting
air of severity into his strictures on the disgraceful scene he had
interrupted, but spoilt it all by bursting into a peal of laughter in
the middle of his lecture. After that there was nothing further to be
done but to extort a heavy fine from the culprit and to let him go.
Mr. Binney felt somewhat relieved as he walked out through the gates of
Jesus down the passage into the lane, but his heart sank again like
lead as he remembered his coming interview with his Tutor. He had just
time enough to go into his rooms and drink a glass of milk and soda,
before it was time to repair to Trinity College to undergo the ordeal
of Mr. Rimington's displeasure.
Mr. Binney had to wait some time in the Tutor's ante-room. His
thoughts were very bitter as he sat turning over the pages of a book,
keenly aware of the titters and whispers of the men who were waiting
with him.
The Tutor's face, when Mr. Binney at last entered the inner room, was
not reassuring. It wore a severe, and, to Mr. Binney's overstrung
perceptions, it seemed a contemptuous look. Mr. Rimington did not
shake hands with his pupil as was his wont, but motioned him to a chair
and plunged immediately _in medias res_.
"You know, of course, why I have sent for you, Mr. Binney," he said.
"I have no intention of expostulating with you. I have tried that
already, and it proved to be of no avail. I simply have to say that
the college can no longer put up with the way you choose to behave
yourself, and you must go down to-day."
"What? go down for good, sir?" said poor Mr. Binney in a broken voice.
"Yes, I think so," said the Tutor.
"Oh, surely you can't be so hard as that," pleaded Mr. Binney. "Think
of the disgrace, sir."
"I do think of the disgrace," said the Tutor, with a short laugh. "I
wish you had thought of it yourself a little sooner."
It will be remembered that on the last occasion of a conversation
between Mr. Rimington and Mr. Binney, the latter had taken a very high
line, for which he had subsequently apologised, but not quite
adequately. Mr. Rimington had become very tired of Mr. Binney's
methods of speech and conduct, and had made up his mind to speak
shortly and sharply, and not to allow any discussion of his decision.
He was not, however, prepared for the total breakdown of Mr. Binney's
opposition to his authority. The poor little creature sitting crumpled
up before him in abject and hot-eyed misery was a very different person
from the combative self-sufficient gentleman who had resisted his
warnings in such a high-handed fashion when he had before animadverted
on his conduct, so he did not refuse to listen when Mr. Binney began to
plead with him in a piteous, broken-hearted manner.
"I know I have disgraced myself, sir," he said, "I feel it deeply. But
such a thing will never happen again, and it has never happened before."
"Oh, pardon me, Mr. Binney," said the Tutor. "This affair is only the
climax to a consistent course of such behaviour. I have had reason to
speak to you before about it. You can't possibly have forgotten that."
"Not about drunkenness, sir," said Mr. Binney. "I was drunk last
night, you know. I confess it. That has never happened before, and
will never happen again."
"There are degrees of culpability, of course, in these matters," said
Mr. Rimington. "Where you seem to disagree with me is in thinking that
these disorderly meetings are allowable at all when a man of your age
and influence takes the lead in setting all rules of order and good
conduct aside."
"I don't disagree with you at all, sir," said Mr. Binney. "I am very
sorry that anything of the sort has ever happened in my rooms. I
promise you, if you will only give me another chance, that it shall
never happen again."
"You forget, Mr. Binney, that I ventured to impress my views upon you
at the end of last term, and warned you that if anything of the sort
happened again I should be compelled to take a serious view of it. The
first man I had to deal with at the beginning of this term had got into
trouble through--er--his companionship with you. And further than that
your name has become synonymous with disorderly behaviour throughout
the University."
What would not Mr. Binney have given at that moment to recall the
vanished days and spend them to better advantage? The contemptible
light in which he must appear to men of his own standing was borne in
upon him like a flood, and he felt that it would indeed be better if he
left Cambridge for good and never showed his face there again.
"I deserve to be sent down in disgrace," he said feebly. "There is
only one reason why I beg you to exercise your clemency--for the sake
of my boy."
Mr. Rimington's mild eyes flashed fire. "I can scarcely trust myself
to speak to you on that subject," he said. "If I do so it is because I
feel it my duty as a clergyman to try and bring home to you the
enormity of your conduct towards your son. Are you incapable of----"
"Oh, don't, don't," interrupted Mr. Binney in a broken-hearted voice.
"I see it all. Nothing you could say would be so severe as what I say
to myself. I can't bear it. I can't really. But just think what an
awful thing it would be for him to have it said that his father was
sent down for drunkenness. He would bear the brand of it all his life."
"It seems to me," said the Tutor dryly, "that you have already given
him something that he will have reason to be ashamed of all his life.
I have a great admiration for your son. I tell you candidly, Mr.
Binney, that I don't know one other undergraduate who could have held
up his head in Cambridge after what he has gone through."
"Oh, don't say any more, I beg of you," cried Mr. Binney, cut to the
heart. "And don't make things worse for him by sending me down."
"If I thought for a moment that your staying up here would make things
easier for him," said Mr. Rimington, "I own I should hesitate, although
I don't say that my decision would be altered. But it seems to me that
the very kindest course to pursue on his account would be to prevent
his having any further cause to be shamed by your conduct up here. No,
Mr. Binney. You must go down this afternoon. I have spoken to one or
two of my colleagues about it, and our decision is irrevocable. I see
no use in protracting this painful interview."
Mr. Binney pleaded and besought, but all to no avail, and left his
Tutor's presence at last, a disgraced and despairing man.
The feelings of Lucius towards his father are too painful a subject to
dilate upon. Never surely, since the wide doors of Cambridge
University were opened to all comers, had any of its members been
placed in a more disagreeable position. Looking back on this trying
time in after years, Lucius wondered how he could ever have endured
life at Cambridge for a single day. But he had attained to that state
of sympathetic intimacy with his cousin in which he could pour out some
of his troubles to her when they met, and be gently but effectually
consoled for them. Betty had never met Mr. Binney, but she knew him by
sight, and nourished a fierce and bitter enmity towards him.
Lucius met his cousin, on the morning after his father's fall, outside
the lecture room of St. John's College, where she was engaged for an
hour three mornings in the week. The other girls who were with her
gave Lucius a glance and then hurried off through the gate, leaving
them alone.
"Good-bye, Lucius," she said hastily, "I must go. I don't know what
those girls are running away for like that."
"Do let me walk back with you, Betty," said Lucius. "I'm so beastly
miserable, I don't know what to do."
"Very well, then. Just for once," said Betty, after a look at his
face. "We'll go along the Backs."
"I suppose you haven't heard about my father last night, have you?"
asked Lucius, as they made their way across the bridge.
"No. What about him?" asked Betty.
"I really sometimes think he's going off his head," said Lucius
despondently. "He was so pleased at his boat going head of the river
that he gave a great feed. There was a terrific row. In the middle of
it the old fool I have to go and hear preach at home turned up.
Goodness knows what brought him. He came to see me this morning just
after breakfast, and seems to think I must have been in it too,
although he knew I wasn't there. He began a long solemn jaw, but I was
so sick I shut him up. He's an awful old outsider, and he's got
nothing to do with me, even if I had done something he didn't approve
of, which I haven't."
"But it doesn't matter what _he_ thinks, does it?" asked Betty with all
the scorn of the rector's daughter against a member of a usurping caste.
"I don't know," said Lucius dubiously. "His wife is a spiteful old
woman. Of course it will get to her ears and then it will be all over
the place. There's one good thing, I have been away from home such a
lot, and have so many friends outside, that it won't matter so much to
me as it might have done. But it will be awful for the poor old
governor. I don't think he knows what he's laying up for himself."
"Oh, I shouldn't bother my head about him if I were you," said Betty
airily. "It's his own fault, and he's got himself to thank for it.
It's you I'm thinking of." Then she blushed a little.
Lucius blushed too. "You are so awfully kind," he began, "and----"
"Yes. Thank you," interrupted Betty, hastily.
"But I really shouldn't know what to do if it wasn't for you,"
persisted Lucius. "It's like----"
"Yes, I know," interrupted Betty again. "But you haven't told me all
about last night yet, have you?"
"No," said Lucius, his face falling again. "The row reached such a
pitch that the Proctors came in. My gyp told me that the governor was
going to be hauled this morning, and I shouldn't wonder if he were sent
down."
"Well, that will be all the better for you, won't it?" inquired Betty,
unmoved at the awful announcement.
"I don't know. I haven't thought of that yet," Lucius admitted. "But
I'm afraid it will kill the poor old governor. I shall go and see him
when I get back. I'm awfully sorry for him, although he has been so
tiresome. But don't let's talk any more about it. We're nearly there.
I say, Betty----"
"I think you'd better go back now," said Betty. "You've come quite far
enough," and Lucius was not bold enough to disobey her.
He found Mr. Binney just returned from his visit to his Tutor. "It's
all over, Lucius. I'm sent down," he said hopelessly.
Lucius was at a loss for words. The humour of the situation suddenly
struck him, and he had hard work to prevent himself smiling.
"I've been a bad father to you, my boy," went on Mr. Binney. "I see it
all now. I wish I had behaved differently. But it is too late. All
is over. The blow has fallen. I am a disgraced man."
"Oh, come, cheer up, father," said Lucius. "I should think they would
give you another show if you promise to keep quiet in future."
"No, they won't," said Mr. Binney. "They think I am spoiling your
chances at Cambridge. And they are quite right--oh, _absolutely_
right."
"What nonsense," said Lucius. "Is it only on my account they have sent
you down?"
"That chiefly," said Mr. Binney, with the calm voice of despair. "But
they have lost faith in me. And quite right too. Oh, _quite_ right."
"Well, I'll tell you what, father," said Lucius, "I'll go and see
Rimington and ask him to give you another chance. We're rather pals,
and he might listen, although it's rather cheek my tackling him."
"Oh, Lucius, if you only would," exclaimed Mr. Binney, grasping his son
eagerly by the arm. "I believe he would listen to you. I do really,
and it's my only chance. I thought this morning that I shouldn't care
to stay at Cambridge any longer after what has happened. But I can't
bear the thought of going down like this. It is too awful."
"Of course not," said Lucius. "I'll go at once."
Mr. Rimington was still receiving when Lucius presented himself in his
anteroom. After a time he found himself cordially greeted by his
father's Tutor, and sat down without an idea as to how he should begin
what he had to say.
"I've come about my father," he said, reddening and playing with the
tassel of his cap. "I hope you'll give him another chance, sir. It
wasn't altogether his fault that all the noise was made last night, and
he'll be very careful that it doesn't happen again. It will be rather
unpleasant for me if he is sent down," he added.
"Has your father asked you to come to me?" asked Mr. Rimington.
"No," said Lucius, "I come of my own accord."
"Wouldn't you be happier up here if your father were--were at home,
Binney?"
"I shouldn't be any happier if people could say he had been sent down.
In fact, I don't think I could stand it. He'll keep pretty well in the
background after this, I should think, and I don't much mind his being
up here if he does that."
"I can't hold out any hopes of our decision being altered," said Mr.
Rimington after a pause. "It is not I alone who am responsible for it.
But I think that your wishes in the matter should certainly be
considered. I can't say more than that at present, and, as I say, your
father had better not entertain any hopes of our decision being
reversed. If there is anything more to say, I will write to him in
London."
With this slender thread of hope Mr. Binney travelled home to Russell
Square that afternoon in sad and lonely dejection. His head still
ached after his excesses of the previous night, and his mood was so
dark that he put off the confession which he knew he should have to
make to Mrs. Higginbotham, until the next morning. As he dined in
solitary state that evening, attended by his neat and soft-footed
maids, he found himself wondering how the habits and customs of twenty
years could have broken down so completely under the influence of new
surroundings. Two years ago he would have been the first to hold up
pious hands of horror at the mere mention of an orgie such as he had
taken part in the night before. And, having returned once more to his
accustomed manner of life, he felt just as far apart from it as he
would have done then. But he could not keep his thoughts away for long
from the dark fact that he had just been expelled from the University
for continuous bad conduct, and it will be agreed that this cannot have
been a pleasant recollection for a middle-aged gentleman with a
grown-up son.
Dr. Toller had promised Mr. Binney that he would keep to himself all
mention of the scene he had surprised. His doing so was only another
example of the eternal self-complaisance of human nature. Dr. Toller
was about as capable of keeping anything to himself that his wife
wanted to hear about, as a puppy is of holding a stick that its master
wants to take away. At twelve o'clock Dr. Toller returned from
Cambridge to the wife of his bosom. By a quarter past, Mrs. Toller was
in possession of the main outlines of his story, which had been filled
in before the half hour struck by all the details that Dr. Toller's
memory could supply.
"You won't tell anyone else what has happened, my dear, will you?" said
Dr. Toller, when his wife had extracted all the information from him he
was capable of affording.
"I shall tell what I please to whomsoever I please," said Mrs. Toller.
"But, my dear, my promise," expostulated the doctor.
"Bother your promise!" said Mrs. Toller, as she went out of the room.
After breakfast the next morning Mr. Binney, to whom another day had
brought no cessation of the gnawing pains of remorse, took his courage
in both hands, and putting on his hat and coat, went round to Woburn
Square.
The maid who opened the door to him gave a little start. "Mrs.
Higginbotham is not at home, sir," she said. "But she told me to give
you this little parcel if you happened to call."
Mr. Binney took the parcel, neatly tied up and directed in Mrs.
Higginbotham's well-known writing. "Do you know when Mrs. Higginbotham
will be in?" he asked.
The maid hesitated. "She told me to say she was not at home, sir," she
repeated awkwardly, and Mr. Binney went down the steps with the
terrible realisation hammering at his brain, that Mrs. Higginbotham had
heard of his disgrace and refused to receive him.
He waited until he had returned to the seclusion of his own library
before he opened the packet which she had directed to him.
It contained all the letters he had ever written to her.