We thought it kinder not to go into the other sitting-room, but Tweenie enquired from the passage if Tiny meant to go home before the show or not.
As no answer was forthcoming, after a somewhat protracted farewell in the hall, I put Tweenie into a hansom and went up to dress for dinner.
I did not hear Miss Trimmer depart, and when I left the house at seven the dining-room door was still closed.
All through the evening the Pilot was in a state of suppressed rage, inspired by the unfortunate Rajah of Jellipore, who had, probably quite unconsciously, kept Miss Carlton out on the river about three hours too long.
The Rajah, whose father’s harem was the finest in the East, early acquired a nice taste in chiffon, and is apparently endeavouring to form a large acquaintance among the ladies of the stage, obviously, as the Pilot bitterly remarked, for recruiting purposes. However, Peter had his innings on the following day at Accrington’s lunch, after which he carried off Ina for a quiet hour on the Cher, much to his host’s disgust. The remainder of the day passed off very quietly.
Thursday was only remarkable for a spirited lecture by the Provost on the evils of the stage, delivered to Accrington at the leprous hour of 9.30 a.m.
Our venerable Head had met the lunch party leaving College on the preceding day, and although we all saluted him with the utmost politeness, he did not return our greeting, but passed on his way combing his beard with his fingers, which is always a sign of impending evil.
‘The old bird turned very stuffy,’ said Accrington, relating the occurrence afterwards, ‘and said he seriously thought of informing my parents that I was wasting my time and money, and doing no good to myself or anybody else.’
‘The usual formula,’ remarked Freddy, en parenthèse; ‘and finished up with the parting slap that no more lunch-leave would be given me this term. I’m afraid,’ he concluded, ‘that the last fragments of my reputation have dissolved.’