CHAPTER IX
ME. BINNEY GIVES A DINNER AND RECEIVES A REBUFF
Mr. Binney took advantage of his unexpectedly early arrival in town for the Christmas vacation to pay a surprise visit to Mrs. Higginbotham. He found that good lady seated by her drawing-room fire as on the occasion of that momentous visit with the account of which this history opens. With the glad cry "Peter!" "Martha!" these two ardent souls were locked in a close embrace, which afforded great gratification to themselves, and not a little to the parlour-maid, who had delayed her exit in order to satisfy herself as to the warmth of their greeting.
"My dear Peter," said Mrs. Higginbotham, "I did not expect to see you for another two days at least. How is it you have managed to come home for your holidays so early?"
"We don't have holidays at Cambridge, Martha," said Mr. Binney; "we call them vacations. And of course we can come away when we like—that is if the dons will let us."
"Well, it is a very agreeable surprise to see you, Peter," said Mrs. Higginbotham. "But how you have altered! Why, you have cut off your beautiful whiskers!"
"Yes," said Mr. Binney. "Fellows don't wear whiskers at Cambridge. It is considered old-fashioned. How do you like the change, Martha?"
"I don't know," said Mrs. Higginbotham, doubtfully. "But you should have asked my leave first, you know, Peter, before taking a step like that," she added, archly.
Mr. Binney enjoyed this. He became facetious, affected to dig Mrs. Higginbotham in the ribs, and jocularly cried, "Oh! you saucy little skipper!"
Mrs. Higginbotham was scandalised.
"Peter!" she exclaimed, "surely you forget yourself."
"Pooh! Martha," said Mr. Binney, "don't be old-fashioned. That's the way young men go on now-a-days."
"Is it?" said Mrs. Higginbotham, only half reassured. "I don't think I much like it. It isn't respectful. But I'm so pleased to see you back, Peter, that I don't mind how you go on. And you certainly do look younger, somehow—I suppose it is from cutting off your whiskers. But do you know I think it makes you look smaller too."
"Ah!" said Peter, "I used to be sorry I was rather short. I'm not now. It's a distinct score. I've got a great piece of news for you, Martha. I'm going to steer the first Lent boat next term, if all goes well. The first boat captain told me the other day that I was the most useful man they'd got, if I didn't play the fool and kept my head; he said if I steered well in the Lents I should probably steer the first boat in the Mays; and that means, Martha, that next year I shall very likely be cox of the 'Varsity and get my Blue. Think of that, now!"
"Lor!" said Mrs. Higginbotham, "And very nice too, I'm sure. But why are you wearing a tie with the Oxford colours instead of the Cambridge?"
"Oh dear! Martha!" exclaimed Peter with some irritation. "Will you never understand these things? These are the First Trinity colours. Nobody can wear the Cambridge colours unless he's a Blue. And I'm not a Blue yet."
"Aren't you?" said Mrs. Higginbotham. "Well, never mind, I'm sure you will be some day if you do your lessons—I mean your work well, and satisfy the Professors. And now, Peter, there is one little thing that I wish to speak to you about. That time you got into trouble. I was very grieved to hear about that. My poor dear father always used to say——"
"Oh, bother your father, Martha!" exclaimed Peter. "What did he know about life at the 'Varsity? I told you in my letter that nobody at Cambridge thinks anything of a lark like that except the fusty old dons—and who cares for what they think?"
"It isn't polite of you to say, 'bother my father,' Peter," rejoined Mrs. Higginbotham with some warmth. "He was a very good father to me, and I never gave him a moment's trouble till the day of his death. I did think that after the lesson you had received—being locked into your bedroom every night at eight o'clock as I gathered from your letter—that you would have seen the folly of such behaviour. But I am sorry to see from this paper which you sent me the other day, that this is not the case."
Mrs. Higginbotham took up from the table at her side one of those ephemeral journals which come and go at the Universities with almost as much frequency as the successive generations of undergraduates who produce them. This one was called The New Court Chronicle, and had been started by one of Mr. Binney's Rugby football acquaintances. In it was a weekly letter in imitation of those that appear in some of the London Society papers, and one paragraph ran as follows:—
"Millie has come up here for a week to see something of her younger brother, Arthur, who has entered at Trinity, and is quite a persona grata with the 'smart' set at that most chic of all the colleges. He took his brother-in-law to a dinner at Mr. 'Peter' Binney's rooms one night, and Sir George came away quite charmed with the verve and élan of his diminutive host. Sir George says that there was not so much wine drunk as in his days at Cambridge, but what there was, was of excellent quality and seemed to go further. Little Mr. Binney insisted on making a speech, and caused uproarious merriment by remarking that he saw double the number of friends he had invited, but he was pleased to welcome them all, and as many more of the same sort as liked to come. Owing to the sultriness of the weather, Mr. Binney was unfortunately seized with a slight indisposition before the party broke up, but he was comfortably settled in bed by his guests before they left, and Millie met him in Jesus Lane the next morning looking as sprightly as ever, and had a short conversation with him, in which he humorously remarked that he had never turned his back upon don or devil yet."
Mrs. Higginbotham opened the paper and pointed to this paragraph.
"It was indeed a grief to me to read that, Peter," she said, "and how you could send it me of your own accord passes my comprehension. Inattention to study I can overlook, and thoughtless levity of conduct I can pardon—but drunkenness! Oh, Peter, I never thought it would come to that."
Mr. Binney had been getting very red during the passing of this exordium on his conduct.
"Pooh, Martha!" he burst out at last. "How could I have known that you would take it seriously. You don't think all that rubbish is true, do you? It is all made up and put in for a lark. I sent it to you because—well, because I thought it would please you to see how popular and well-known I have become in Cambridge. If you don't like it, throw it in the fire."
"But if it is not true, Peter," said Mrs. Higginbotham—"and I'm sure I'm very much relieved to hear that it is not—why do you allow such things to be put into a paper? It distinctly says you 'saw double,' and I have always understood that to be an unfailing sign of—of tipsiness. I call it disgraceful taking away a gentleman's character like that. Supposing it should come round to Dr. Toller's ears, or some others of the congregation? And you a deacon, too, and so much looked up to."
"Dr. Toller!" echoed Mr. Binney with much scorn. "What do I care for Dr. Toller? He's not a 'Varsity man; he doesn't understand these things."
"He has got a University degree," said Mrs. Higginbotham. "Indeed, two degrees. He is always put in the bills as Rev. Samuel Toller, B.A., D.D."
"That's nothing," said Mr. Binney. "He wasn't at Oxford or Cambridge. The rest don't count."
"Oh, don't they! I didn't know," said Mrs. Higginbotham. "But, at any rate, I shouldn't allow those things to be said of you, Peter, especially as they are not true. It might get about, and I shouldn't like that. Now, tell me about some of your speeches at the Young Men's Christian Association. I am so glad you——"
"The Union, Martha! The Union!" shouted Mr. Binney, annoyed beyond bounds at Mrs. Higginbotham's consistent inability to grasp the true inwardness of University life.
"Well, the Union then," said Mrs. Higginbotham. "It's the same thing, isn't it?"
"No, it's not the same thing," said Mr. Binney, and then he calmed down and gave Mrs. Higginbotham a full and true account of the building up of his forensic ambitions, and their sad and disastrous downfall. Mrs. Higginbotham was full of sympathy and womanly consolation.
"Ah, Martha," said Mr. Binney at last, "what a treasure I have gained in your love! My barque will never suffer shipwreck so long as the haven of your true woman's breast is open to it."
"I trust not," said Mrs. Higginbotham. "And now let us have tea up. I expect Annie will have toasted some muffins."
Lucius arrived home the next afternoon, and brought Dizzy with him for a few days. The point of view from which he had hitherto regarded his father had been so rudely altered by Mr. Binney's behaviour during his first term at Cambridge that Lucius had been unable to face the ordeal of the first few days alone with him in Russell Square.
"You know what the governor is, Dizzy," he had said. "It won't be so bad if you are here for a bit, and we can have a good time. I've got some money left, although my allowance has been getting smaller and smaller ever since I came up to Cambridge. We needn't be at home more than we like, and we can go about a bit and see plays."
"I should like to come, old man," said Dizzy. "I've got a bit of splosh laid by, too. I'm an economical beggar and I've let my bills stand over till next term. We'll have a rare old time. I suppose your governor won't want to go about with us, will he?"
"I shouldn't be surprised," said Lucius. "You can never tell what nonsense he'll be up to now."
"Oh, well, we must make the best of it, if he does," said Dizzy cheerfully. "He's not such bad fun if you take him in the right way, and I can always get on with him very well."
"He's not your father," said Lucius.
Dizzy considerately gave thanks inaudibly.
But when they reached Russell Square they found that a change for the better had set in in Mr. Binney's behaviour. The responsibilities of a householder and the head of a large business-house had temporarily settled down on him again. He went to the City every day for an hour or two, and spent a good deal of his spare time in the company of Mrs. Higginbotham, leaving the young men pretty well to their own devices. He had been brought up to regard theatre going as injurious to the morals, and, while he did not attempt to prevent Lucius from enjoying himself in his own way, the remains of an early prejudice prevented his accompanying him. So Dizzy spent a pleasant week with his friend, and as he was always cheery and obliging from morning to night, Mr. Binney was delighted with his company.
One evening towards the end of Dizzy's visit there was a little dinner-party in Russell Square. The guests were Mrs. Higginbotham, Dr. Toller, his wife and daughter, and a sprightly middle-aged lady called Miss Tupper, who had been a friend of the late Mrs. Binney, whose place she was generally supposed to be desirous of filling. Mrs. Higginbotham and she were very cordial to one another when they met, but there was a delicate sub-acid flavour about their conversation which hardly seemed in accord with the indelible sweetness of their respective smiles.
Mr. Binney sat at the head of the table with Mrs. Toller on his right, and Mrs. Higginbotham on his left, Lucius at the foot, flanked by Miss Tupper and Miss Toller. The Reverend Doctor and Dizzy faced one another.
"And how do you like University life, Mr. Binney?" inquired Mrs. Toller sweetly, when her husband had recited an impromptu grace, and infused as much originality into it as possible, and the company had settled themselves down to soup and agreeable conversation.
Mr. Binney, of course, was anxious to talk about Cambridge, but he did not quite like a question which drew attention to his novice state.
"Oh, all University men like University life, Mrs. Toller," he replied. "Though, of course, some are not in a position to appreciate it as much as others."
"Oh, Mr. Binney, I'm sure you are in a position to appreciate it," said Miss Tupper gushingly.
"I hope I am, Miss Tupper," said Mr. Binney.
"Who are the people who do not appreciate it?" asked Mrs. Toller.
This gave Mr. Binney the opportunity he wanted of expatiating on the prestige to be gained by membership of a good college, and a wide circle of distinguished athletic acquaintances. Mrs. Toller seemed much interested and put many questions in a tone of innocent inquiry, which had the effect of drawing Mr. Binney into a somewhat fuller account than he would otherwise have given of his manner of life during the past term. Miss Tupper was enchanted with everything she heard. She even clapped her hands.
"Oh, do tell me more, Mr. Binney," she cried. "It is all so young. I simply love to hear about it. Lucius, why don't you back Mr. Binney up? I believe you are a very wicked boy when you're at college, for all you are so quiet at home. Oh, fie!"
Lucius made no reply to this sally. The old feeling towards his father which had been coming back slowly during the last few days was disappearing again as the conversation developed, and he ate his dinner in shamed silence. Miss Tupper became more and more sprightly, but she devoted herself to Mr. Binney although she was two places away from him. She was the daughter of a solicitor, while Mrs. Toller's father had been a bookseller, and she wished to show that lady that the manners of the upper classes possess a greater breadth and freedom than those of the people with whom Mrs. Toller had mixed all her life. Mrs. Higginbotham was very anxious that Mr. Binney should not give Dr. Toller reason to suppose that his habits had become at all loose during his short residence at Cambridge, and tried to bring the conversation down to the more sober aspects of University life, but the Doctor was enjoying a very good dinner and was inclined to be tolerant. He even told some anecdotes of his own salad days when he had been a student at Homerton College, but the mild devilry of his proceedings took such a long time to narrate, and amounted to so very little when it was reduced to speech, that his anecdotes fell very flat. Mrs. Higginbotham gave them rather more than their due share of appreciation, but Mr. Binney listened with ill-concealed impatience, and instantly capped each story with a much more highly-spiced one of his own, while Miss Tupper actually had the temerity to snub the great man, which exasperated his wife to such an extent that she half made up her mind to bring her unseemly conduct before the next church meeting.
Under cover of this conversation Dizzy had been trying to get on terms with his neighbour. Miss Toller was very young and very shy, but undoubtedly pretty. Dizzy, that discriminating critic of feminine beauty, had run his eye cursorily over her upon his first appearance. "Pity she ain't turned out properly," he had said to Lucius. "She's worth it. I should like to get her a proper evening frock instead of that dowdy thing, and take her somewhere to get her hair waved. I could turn her into a regular topper in no time. Give her a few lessons on how to walk, and teach her to hold her hands properly and you wouldn't know her when I'd finished with her."
"Shouldn't want to; you'd only spoil her," said Lucius. "She's a nice enough little thing as it is. I've danced with her at children's parties ever since I can remember."
"Come now," said Dizzy, "you wouldn't like to see the Newnham beauty turned out like that of an evening."
"That's different," said Lucius, with a blush.
Poor little Miss Toller would have sunk into the earth with shame if she had heard herself thus discussed. This was her first dinner-party end she had looked forward to it with tremulous but pleasurable anticipation. She was going to meet Lucius, and Lucius had always stood for her as an embodiment of everything that was worthy of admiration in the opposite sex. She had recently been put in command of her own small dress allowance, and had expended a good part of her quarter's income on the frock that Dizzy had criticised so contemptuously. Lucius had not taken so much notice of her as she had expected, considering that they had been friends all their lives; and he seemed unhappy! Poor boy! With feminine intuition she instantly divined something of the state of things that existed between him and his father. Hitherto she had regarded Mr. Binney with that respect due to his age and his standing in her father's congregation. Suddenly she found herself hating and despising him with a fervour that surprised even herself, and she would have given anything she possessed, even her new frock, to be able to console Lucius without appearing to understand why he was so downcast. Lucius spoke very little to her, although she sat next to him, and she was too shy to address him first; but now she had to collect her wits and cope with the embarrassing young man who sat on her left, who seemed more at ease than she could possibly have conceived any young man being in the awe-inspiring surroundings of a set dinner-party, and who spoke and behaved in quite a different manner from anybody she had ever met before.
"Oysters!" began Dizzy, as an opening to conversation. "I don't know whether you know that if you eat a dozen oysters and drink a wine-glassful of brandy after them, you die."
Miss Toller had never eaten oysters in her life, nor drunk brandy except under strong maternal pressure for medicinal purposes, but she looked rather frightened. "Do you?" she said.
"Yes," said Dizzy, "the brandy turns the oysters into leather. Leather's the most indigestible thing you can swallow, although of course nobody would swallow it if they could help it. But the funny part of it is, that if you eat a piece of cheese the size of a walnut—I don't know why walnut particularly—it melts the leather and then you are all right."
Miss Toller thought this information a trifle indelicate, but made no comment on it, except the tacit one of leaving her oysters untasted.
"Been to any plays lately?" inquired Dizzy.
"No," said Miss Toller, "my father doesn't approve of theatres."
"Doesn't he?" said Dizzy. "Quite right too. I'm sure the nonsense that's put on the stage now and called a play is enough to make you ill. And then they talk about dramatic art! Why, there's more art in a Punch and Judy show. Lucius and I have been going the rounds for the last week, and I'm hanged if I want to go and see another play till I'm seventy. Louie Freer's the only artist among the whole lot of 'em. Ever heard her sing 'Mary Jane's Top Note'? Oh, no, I forgot. You don't care for theatres. But you should have seen Lucius at the A.D.C. He was only a maid-servant—but such a maid-servant. He had letters from all the Registry Offices in Cambridge offering him situations. Every Sunday out and as many followers as he liked. Didn't you, Lucius?"
"He's talking nonsense, Nesta," said Lucius. "He always will talk whether he's got anything to say or not."
"But did you dress up as a maid-servant, Lucius?" asked the girl.
"He did," said Dizzy, "and his waist was twenty-two inches round. His name was Mary." But here Mr. Stubbs's attention was demanded by his other neighbour, Mrs. Toller, who had learnt enough of Mr. Binney's late doings to satisfy her for the present, and had caught a few scraps of the conversation addressed to her daughter, and thought it a trifle free.
"And what may you be going to do, Mr. Stubbs, when you leave college?" she asked with a slight touch of asperity.
"Well, 'pon my word, I don't know," replied Dizzy, who may have been a little surprised at the directness of the inquiry, but didn't show it. "I leave all that sort of thing to my old father, you know. He's got plenty of ideas on the subject, but he changes 'em about once a month. I fall in with 'em all and give 'em up directly the new one comes along. It keeps him out of mischief, having something to think about, and it don't hurt me. I think it's the Church just at present—or is it brewing? No, brewing was last term. My old father read in the papers that the country spends more money on its drink bills than on anything else, so he thought that if I was put in a position to enable me to receipt a few of 'em, it wouldn't be a bad thing. However, he gave up the idea for some reason or other, and now we're turning our attention to the Church."
"And do you feel that you have any vocation for the ministry?" asked Mrs. Toller.
"Oh! I shall rub along all right," said Dizzy. "I've an old uncle who's got several livings in his gift. He'll give me one if I want it, I dare say. There's one up in Lincolnshire,—not much money, but a nice house, and five hundred acres of rough shooting—you don't often get that sort of thing with a rectory nowadays—and only about fifty people in the parish. I shouldn't mind going there, and I dare say I could if I wanted to. My old uncle's place is in the next parish, and I could have a very good time."
Mrs. Toller listened with inward disapproval, but the mention of Dizzy's uncle with his patronage and his "place" disarmed her rancour, she being as arrant a snob as ever walked, and she said with much sweetness:
"Don't you think, Mr. Stubbs, that the system of patronage adopted by the Established Church is a little—what shall I say?—a little—"
"I do," said Dizzy with warmth. "I quite agree with you. I think it's perfectly monstrous. Now, look at my old uncle—well, perhaps I oughtn't to let out family secrets—but I assure you that for that old man to be able to present people to livings—though, mind you, he's a very nice old man, and I've nothing to say against him—well, upon my word, it's enough to make you turn Particular Baptist or something—never quite know why Baptists should be more particular than anybody else—-oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Toller—'pon my word I forgot we weren't of the same way of thinking—clumsy beggar, always putting my foot in it—but you're not what they call a Particular Baptist, are you?"
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Toller. "The Particular Baptists were——"
"Quite so. Yes, I remember. And I know, of course, that Dr. Toller is a most distinguished leader of religious thought—everybody knows that. I ought to have remembered that he didn't happen to belong to the same Church as I do—stupid of me. But, you know, the truth of it is, Mrs. Toller, that when a man gets up to the top of the tree, well, he may be Archbishop of Canterbury, or a Cardinal or—or a man like your husband, and to a fellow like me who don't follow these things very closely, well, there isn't much difference, don't you know."
"You feel that, do you?" said Mrs. Toller, much gratified. "Of course we think so; but church people are usually so bigoted. I'm sure it's a great pleasure to meet a member of the Establishment who is so broad-minded."
Dizzy felt that he had completely retrieved his error, and proceeded to amplify his ideas.
"I think it's such rot being narrow-minded, don't you know," he said. "Look at the Buddhists. They're just as good as we are. I knew a fellow once who became one. He was fond of a good glass of wine. He had to knock that off, and become a teetotaller. He liked shooting, but he had to give it up, because he said he couldn't take life—he never had taken much before, but he used to hit 'em sometimes by mistake, and he didn't want to run any risks. Of course, he didn't eat meat. Then he hadn't been married very long, and there was a baby he was very fond of. He began to bring that up as a Buddhist too, and fed it on apples and filbert nuts. Don't know what his wife was doing all the time, but it died in a month. He didn't care. He just went on. Now, that's what I call religion, you know, and I should admire that fellow just as much if he were a Mormon or whatever he was. Wouldn't you?"
Mrs. Toller was not prepared to go quite so far as that, but she went part of the way, and went very amiably.
"I suppose you have never heard my husband preach, have you, Mr. Stubbs?" she asked.
"No, I haven't," said Dizzy. "And it's a funny thing, because I've been in London a good deal. It's the people who come up from the country who see and hear everything that's going on. Now, you wouldn't credit it, but I've actually never been to the Zoo."
Mrs. Toller did not quite see the connection of ideas, but her amiability did not decrease.
"He preached a very fine sermon last Sunday," she said, "on 'The Municipal Duties of an Enlightened Electorate.' The papers were full of it. The Daily Chronicle said it was 'an epoch-making sermon.'"
"I can quite believe that," said Dizzy. "If a man talks sense in the pulpit people will listen to him. If he talks nonsense they won't."
"That is so true," said Mrs. Toller, and felt quite sorry when the time came for the ladies to leave the table, for Dizzy had by this time completely wiped out the memory of his little slip.
Driving home after the entertainment was over Mrs. Toller laid down the law.
"Mr. Binney seems to have been behaving very foolishly at Cambridge," she said. "I gathered something of the sort from Mrs. Higginbotham, and wished to find out if it was true. I could see that she was ashamed of the nonsense he talked at dinner, and I felt for her, poor thing. I shall go and see her to-morrow and tell her so. The way Miss Tupper egged him on was disgraceful. She ought to be ashamed of herself, at her age, too. If I were you, I should allude to it in your prayer on Sunday, Samuel. It will not seem so pointed as if you were to do it in the sermon, and there is never any telling what Miss Tupper may do. She might leave the chapel altogether if she is offended, and if she once took to going to church she'd give herself such airs that there'd be no holding her."
"I think Mr. Binney is a very silly little man," said Miss Toller vindictively. "I believe he is making poor Lucius miserable."
"Nesta!" exclaimed Mrs. Toller, astonished at this outburst from her usually submissive daughter, "I cannot allow you to speak like that of your elders. Mr. Binney is one of your father's greatest supporters. Pray express yourself with more respect. And as for Lucius—I've no patience with him. I've gone out of my way to be kind to that boy, and he shows no more gratitude than if I was a mere nobody—hardly troubled himself to answer when I asked him how he was getting on with his studies, and actually turned his back upon me when I began to give him a little advice about the temptations of University life. Now if he were like that nice young Mr. Stubbs it would be different. Stubbs is not a genteel name, but I believe he is very well connected, and he certainly has a well-bred manner of speaking. Samuel, I have asked him to come with us and hear you preach on Sunday evening. He said nothing would please him better. He has never been in a Nonconformist place of worship, and he will certainly come if he is still in town. I should be careful what I said about the Establishment if I were you. I should like him to carry away a good impression of your preaching."
"I'll be sure and remember it, my dear," said Dr. Toller drowsily from his corner of the carriage. "Nesta, dear, write a note for me when we get home—'Mr. Stubbs—no rubs.' Then I shan't disgrace myself." The Reverend Dr. Toller cultivated his small gift of humour; he found it necessary in order to live comfortably with his wife.
Dizzy took his departure the next morning, but not before a very painful scene had occurred in Russell Square. The Times which graced Mr. Binney's breakfast table, and was now eagerly searched each morning for news of the Little-go examination, at last published the list. Mr. Binney's name was not in it.
Dizzy came down to find a dejected figure sitting at the head of the table, while the disregarded urn which had filled the teapot and flooded the tea-tray was beginning to flow over the surrounding tract of tablecloth. As he entered the room Mr. Binney bounded from his seat with a yell of pain, and turned off the tap. The physical anguish of the moment diverted his mind from the mental shock he had undergone, but the numbing realisation of failure soon settled on him again. "Stubbs!" he said mournfully, "it is all over. I shall never hold up my head again."
"Lor, Mr. Binney!" exclaimed Dizzy. "It can't be so bad as that, is it? Shall I ring for a servant to bring a cloth and mop it up?"
"It isn't that," said Mr. Binney, with the calm born of despair. "I have failed to pass the Previous examination. I am a disgraced man."
"Oh, that's all, is it?" said Dizzy, helping himself to devilled kidneys off the side table. "I thought you'd scalded yourself. Why, bless my soul, I knew a fellow who had eight shots at the Little-go and didn't pass it then. I had three goes myself, and here I am as merry as a cricket."
"Ah, you are young!" said Mr. Binney. "You've got your life before you. I shall never get over it."
Nevertheless he did get over it, and the failure did him good. He went to Mrs. Higginbotham and confessed all. He saw now, he said, that he had wasted his time and opportunities. He had consorted with idle and graceless companions, and made himself a reproach to the authorities of the college. He had brought this appalling result on himself, and he deserved it.
Mrs. Higginbotham gave the repentant prodigal full absolution. She advised him to write to Mr. Rimington, and promise full amendment of his ways. Mr. Binney did not take her advice in this particular, but he did summon to his aid the learned Minshull, and set himself steadily to read for several hours a day during the Christmas vacation in order to make up for lost time. Lucius found the house very dull. An unexpected invitation from his cousin John Jermyn's mother came for him to spend the week after Christmas at the Norfolk Rectory, but remembering his cousin John he did not feel attracted, and receiving another invitation the day after to the ancestral home of the Stubbses he accepted that, and refused the other. He went up to Cambridge early, for there was a chance of his rowing in the University boat, and he wanted to keep a term before going to Putney, if he should be fortunate enough to be wanted there; so he saw next to nothing of his father for the remainder of the vacation.