“It wasn’t much of a school, was it?” persisted Percy. “Jeff told me he didn’t care about it.”
“I don’t think he did,” replied Scarfe with a faint smile.
“I suppose you are very fond of Oxford, are you not?” said Mrs Rimbolt; “every one who belongs to the University seems very proud of it.”
This effectually turned the conversation away from Jeffreys, and the subject was not recurred to that evening, except just when Scarfe was bidding his mother good-night in her boudoir.
“I hope you won’t be dull here,” said she. “Miss Atherton seems a pleasant girl, but it is a pity Percy is not older and more of a companion.”
“Oh, I shall enjoy myself,” said Scarfe.
“You don’t seem very fond of that Mr Jeffreys.”
“No, I draw the line somewhere, mother,” said the son.
“What do you mean? Is there anything discreditable about him? He looks common and stupid, to be sure. Mrs Rimbolt tells me Percy is greatly taken up with him.”
“They appear to have curious ideas about the kind of companion they choose for their boy,” said Scarfe. “But it’s no business of ours. Good-night, mother.”