As the reader may suppose, the sympathetic soul of Miss Daisy Herapath was considerably moved by the contents of her brother’s letter, which we gave in the last chapter. She naturally took an interest in the welfare and doings of Railsford’s house; and as she heard quite as often from the master as she did from his pupil, she was able to form a pretty good, all-round opinion on school politics.
Arthur’s lively account of the House sports had delighted her. Not that she understood all the obscure terms which embellished it; but it was quite enough for her that the house had risen above its tribulations and rewarded its master and itself by these brilliant exploits in the fields. But when Arthur passed from public to personal matters, his sister felt rather less at ease. She much disliked the barefaced proposal for the testimonial, and had told her brother as much more than once. On the whole, she decided to send Arthur’s letter and its enclosure to Railsford, and confide her perplexities to him.
Railsford perused the “dear boy’s” florid effusion with considerable interest, particularly, I grieve to say, certain portions of it, which if Daisy had been as wise as she was affectionate, she would have kept to herself. When people put notes into circulation, it’s not the fault of those into whose hands they come if they discover in them beauties unsuspected by the person for whose benefit they were issued. Railsford saw a great deal more in Arthur’s letter than Daisy had even suspected. A certain passage, which had seemed mere mysterious jargon to her, had a pretty plain meaning for him, especially after the interview last Sunday with Mr Bickers.
“It’s a jolly good job that row about Bickers came on when it did. ... Nobody wants to find the chap out now, so your particular is all serene up to now, and I don’t mean to drip and spoil his game.”
What could this mean except that Arthur, somehow or other, knew a secret respecting the Bickers affair which he was keeping to himself, presumably in the interests of Railsford? Could this mysterious hint have any connection with the false rumour which had reached Bickers and magnified itself in his mind to such an uncomfortable extent? Railsford resolved to delight the heart of his young relative by a friendly visit, and make a reconnaissance of the position. He had a very good pretext in the anxious solicitude expressed in Daisy’s letter for the health and appetite of her love-tossed brother. He would make it his business to inquire how the sufferer did.
Waiting, therefore, until a preternatural stillness in the room above assured him that Dig was out of the way, the Master of the Shell went up-stairs and ushered himself into Arthur’s study.
“Hard at work, I see,” said Railsford cheerily. “How are you getting on?”
“All serene, thanks,” replied Arthur. “That is, not very well.”
“Have you stuck fast in your translations? Let me look.”
“Oh no. I’m not doing my exercise,” said Arthur, in alarm. “I’m only looking up some words. Do you want to see Dig? He’s gone to Wake’s room.”