He shut himself up that evening and the following morning with his Greats work. Then he and Meyrick rushed up to the racket courts in the Parks for an hour’s hard exercise, after which, in the highest physical spirits, a splendid figure in his white flannels, with the dark blue cap and sash of the Harrow Eleven—(he had quarrelled with the captain of the Varsity Eleven very early in his Oxford career, and by an heroic sacrifice to what he conceived to be his dignity had refused to let himself be tried for it)—he went off to meet his mother and sister at the railway station.
It was, of course, extremely inconsiderate of his mother to be coming at all in these critical weeks before the schools. She ought to have kept away. And yet he would be very glad to see her—and Nelly. He was fond of his home people, and they of him. They were his belongings—and they were Fallodens. Therefore his strong family pride accepted them, and made the most of them.
But his countenance fell when, as the train slowed into the railway station, he perceived beckoning to him from the windows, not two Fallodens, but four!
“What has mother been about?” He stood aghast. For there were not only Lady Laura and Nelly, but Trix, a child of eleven, and Roger, the Winchester boy of fourteen, who was still at home after an attack of measles.
They beamed at him as they descended. The children were quite aware they were superfluous, and fell upon him with glee.
“You don’t want us, Duggy, we know! But we made mother bring us.”
“Mother, really you ought to have given me notice!” said her reproachful son. “What am I to do with these brats?”
But the brats hung upon him, and his mother, “fat, fair and forty,” smiled propitiatingly.
“Oh, my dear Duggy, never mind. They amuse themselves. They’ve promised to be good. And they get into mischief in London, directly my back’s turned. How nice you look in flannels, dear! Are you going to row this afternoon?”
“Well, considering you know that my schools are coming on in a fortnight—” said Falloden, exasperated.