It was a passing temptation only. Alas! that memory clung still. Nothing could alter the past; and though he might now feel secure from its consequences, he had only to think of young Forrester to remind him that somewhere the black mark stood against his name as cruelly as ever.
Yet, comparatively, he felt light-hearted, as with the Rimbolt family he stood at last on the London platform.
It was new ground to him. Some years ago Mr Halgrove had lived several months in the Metropolis, and the boy, spending his summer holidays there, and left entirely to his own devices, had learned in a plodding way about as much of the great city as a youth of seventeen could well do in the time.
The Rimbolts’ house in Clarges Street was to Jeffreys’ mind not nearly so cheerful as Wildtree. The library in it consisted of a small collection of books, chiefly political, for Mr Rimbolt’s use in his parliamentary work; and the dark little room allotted to him, with its look-out on the mews, was dull indeed compared with the chamber at Wildtree, from which he could at least see the mountain.
Nor did he by any means enjoy the constant round of entertainments which went on in London, at which he was sometimes called upon in a humble way to assist. He had been obliged, in deference to Mrs Rimbolt’s broad hints, to buy a dress suit, and in this he was expected on occasions to present himself at the end of a grand dinner-party, or when Mr Rimbolt required his professional attendance.
For, there being no books to take care of here, Mr Rimbolt availed himself of his librarian’s services as a private secretary in some important political business, and found him so efficient and willing, that he proposed to him a considerable increase in his salary, in consideration of his permanently undertaking a good share of his employer’s ordinary correspondence.
The chief portion of Jeffreys’ time, however, still belonged to Percy, and it was a decided relief to him that that young gentleman scoffed at and eschewed the endless hospitalities and entertainments with which his mother delighted to fill up their life in London.
“I don’t see the fun of gorging night after night, do you, Jeff? A good spread’s all very well now and again, but you get sick of it seven nights a week. Makes me sleepy. Then all these shows and things! I’ve a good mind to get laid up again, and have a real good time. There’s to be no end of a crowd here to-night—everybody. I shall cut it if I can; shan’t you?”
“Mr Rimbolt wants me to come into the drawing-room after dinner,” said Jeffreys.
“All serene! That won’t be till nine. Come up to Putney, and have a row on the river this afternoon.”