"Kept it dark!" Tony echoed indignantly. "Kept it dark! Why, I only knew myself that Clonmell wanted me to have her this morning; and in his letter he said, 'in a week or so'; then the child appears to-night, wholly unexpectedly, and it's deuced awkward, for Miss Foster's gone away for the week-end to a niece's wedding."
"Can't you get one of the married masters to have her till Miss Foster comes back?"
"No, I can't do that; she'd be awfully hurt. They're all the soul of hospitality themselves, and I could never make her understand my reasons. I must worry through somehow, only don't you go off with any ridiculously wrong impression."
"Of course not, of course not," young Nick remarked solemnly, still gazing at Tony with eyes that seemed unable quite to see him in this new rôle of guardian to a young lady.
They stared at each other in silence for a minute, and what young Nick saw was a broad-shouldered, tall man, rather short-necked, very square-jawed, brown and weather-beaten as to complexion; a well-shaved man with a trustworthy but by no means beautiful mouth, except when he smiled, when two rows of strong, absolutely perfect teeth, redeemed its plainness. Of Tony Bevan's nose, the less said the better. It was inconspicuous and far from classical in shape, but his eyes were really fine: humorous, clear, very brown eyes that were in truth the mirrors of a kind and candid soul. His head was good, with plenty of breadth and height above the ear; his hair thick and usually very smooth and sleek.
"Clonmell senior must surely have married very young if you were his fag here," young Nick continued.
"Clonmell married in his second year at Balliol, and Lallie and Paddy were born while he was still an undergraduate. He's just twenty-three years older than the twins--in years; in mind and conduct I do believe he's younger than either of them, and heaven knows they're young enough. Of course the Balliol authorities were furious at his marriage, but he was so brilliant, they let him stay on, for they didn't want to lose him. He was up five years you know, and took all sorts of honours in classics. It was just the same here; any other chap would have got the sack for half the things he did, but they knew he was safe for a Balliol scholarship and didn't want to lose him."
"I've seen his name up in the big classical. Was he like Paddy?"
"Very like Paddy. Didn't you see him when he was down here for the last concert, standing on a chair and singing 'Auld Lang Syne,' long after he ought to have shut up? Paddy's the living image of what he was at the same age, but hasn't half his brains. When he was here he had his prefect's star taken away three times; got it back; and finally they had to make him head of his house, for he was already captain of the eleven; and for years won every short race in the sports. But you could never tell what he'd do next. It wasn't that he broke rules, so much as that he always seemed to think of doing things no mortal had conceived possible. No code of rules on earth could be framed to forbid the doings of Fitzroy Clonmell."
"Yet I suppose he was a good chap, really? Paddy was a thoroughly nice boy, with all his vagaries."