"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."