“Did he?” asked Michael, well aware of the question’s folly, but incapable of not asking it.
“Terrible! Terrible! But it was never a public scandal.”
“Oh,” gulped Michael humbly, wishful he had never asked Lord Cleveden about his father.
“I can’t remember whether my old rooms were on that staircase or this one. Saxby’s I think were on this, but mine surely were on that one. Let’s go up and ask the present owner to let us look in,” Lord Cleveden proposed, peering the while in amiable doubt at the two staircases.
“Oh, no, I say, father, really, no, no,” protested his son. “No, no; he may have people with him. Really.”
“Ah, to be sure,” Lord Cleveden agreed. “What a pity!”
“And I think we ought to buzz round St. Mary’s before lunch,” Lonsdale announced.
“Do they make meringues here nowadays?” inquired Lord Cleveden meditatively.
“No, no,” Lonsdale assured him. “They’ve given up since the famous cook died. Look here, we absolutely must buzz round St. Mary’s. And our crême caramel is a much showier sweet than anything they’ve got at the House.”
The tour of St. Mary’s was conducted with almost incredible rapidity, because Lonsdale knew so little about his own college that he omitted everything except the J.C.R., the hall, the chapel, the buttery and the kitchen.