The New Warden Part 26

"When I pa.s.sed near the library, I thought of Dr. Middleton."

"You understand, don't you, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "that I don't want any talk about 'a ghost,' even though, you are now quite sensible about it. I don't think the Robinsons are silly, but Louise and the other two are like children, and must be treated as such."

"Oh no," said Gwen, innocently, "I won't!" And she meant what she said.

It was true that she had just hinted at something, perhaps she even used the word "ghost," to the housemaid that morning, but she had made her promise faithfully not to repeat what she had heard, so it was all right.

"We start at half-past ten," said Lady Dashwood.

Gwen said she would be punctual. Her face was full of mysterious and subdued pleasure when she looked into the breakfast-room to see if by any chance Mrs. Dashwood was still there. The girl's fancy was excited by the Warden's behaviour last night. She kept on thinking of his face in the lamp light. It looked very severe and yet so gentle. She was actually falling in love with him, so she said to herself. The Barber's ghost was no longer alarming, but something to recall with a thrill of interest, as it led on to the Warden. She was burning to talk about the Warden. She was so glad she had delivered her letter to the Warden. He would be simply obliged to speak some time to-day. How exciting! Now, was Mrs. Dashwood in the breakfast-room? Yes, there she was, standing in the window with a newspaper in her hand.

"Oh, good morning," said Gwen, brightly. "I must thank you for having been so awfully sweet to me last night. It was funny, wasn't it, my getting that fright? I really and truly was frightened, till Dr.

Middleton came up and told me I needn't. Isn't he wonderful?" Here Gwen's voice sank into a confidential whisper.

Mrs. Dashwood said "Yes" in a lingering voice, and she seemed about to go.

"I do think he is the nicest man I have ever met," said Gwen hurriedly, "don't you? But then, of course, I have reason to think so, after last night. It must have looked queer, I mean to any one merely looking on.

How I _did_ sleep!" Then after a moment she said: "Don't you think he is very good-looking? Now, do tell me, Mrs. Dashwood! I promise you I won't repeat it."

"He is a very charming man," said May, "that is obvious."

"Wasn't it silly of me to think of the Barber's ghost--especially as it only appears when some disaster happens to the Warden? I mean that is the story. Now the Warden is perfectly well this morning, I particularly asked, though I knew he would be, of course. Now, if there had been a real ghost, he ought to die to-day, or perhaps to-morrow.

Isn't it all funny?" Then, as there came another pause, Gwendolen added, "I suppose it couldn't mean that he might die in a week's time--or six months perhaps?" and her voice was a little anxious.

"Death isn't the only disaster," said May, "that can happen to a man."

"Don't you think it's about the worst?" said Gwen. "Worse even than losing lots of money. You see, if you are once dead, there you are! But I needn't bother--there was no ghost."

"No, there was no ghost," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she laid her paper down on a side table.

Gwen felt that she had not had a fair chance of a talk. In the absence of anybody really young it was some comfort to talk to Mrs. Dashwood.

She much preferred Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Dashwood. Lady Dashwood was sometimes "nasty," since that letter affair. Fortunately she had not been able to _do_ anything nasty. She had not been able to make the Warden nasty.

Gwen stood watching May, and then said in a low voice to detain her: "I wish mother would come!"

"Do you expect her?" asked May, turning round and facing the girl.

"I do and I don't and I do," said Gwen. "That sounds jolly vague, I know, and please don't even say to Lady Dashwood that I mentioned it.

You won't, will you? It jumped out of my mouth. Things do sometimes."

May smiled a little.

"Mother is so plucky," said Gwen; "I'm sure you'd like her--you really would, and she would like you. She doesn't by any means like everybody.

She's very particular, but I think she would like you."

May smiled again, and this gave Gwen complete confidence.

"Our relations, you know, have really been a bit stingy," she said. "Too bad, isn't it, and there's been a bother about my education. Of course, mother needn't have sent me to school at all, only she's so keen on doing all she can for me, much more keen than our relations have been.

Why, would you believe it, Uncle Ted, my father's youngest brother, who is a parson in Ess.e.x, has been saving! What I mean is that the Scotts ain't a bit well off--isn't it hard lines? You see I tell you all this, I wouldn't to anybody else. Well, Uncle Ted had saved for years for his only son--for Eton and Oxford: I don't think he'd ever given mother a penny. Wasn't that rather hard luck on mother?"

May said "Oh!" in a tone that was neutral.

"Well, but I'll explain," said Gwen, eagerly, "and you'll see. When poor Ted was killed, almost at once in the war, there was all the Oxford money still there. Mother knew about it, and said it couldn't be less than five hundred pounds, and might be more. And mother just went to them and spoke ever so nicely about poor Ted being killed--it was such horrid luck on Uncle Ted--and then she just asked ever so quietly if she might borrow some of the Oxford money, as there would be no use for it now. She didn't even ask them to give it, she only asked to borrow, and she thought they would like it to be used for the last two years of my school, it would be such a nice thought for them. And would you believe it, they were quite angry and refused! So mother thought they ought to know how mean it was of them. She is so plucky! So she told them that they had no sympathy with anybody but themselves, and didn't care about any Scott except their own Ted, who was dead and couldn't come to life again, however much they h.o.a.rded. Mother does say things so straight.

She is so sporting! But wasn't it horrid for her to have to do it?"

May had gradually moved to the door ready to go out. Now she opened it.

So this was the young woman to whom the Warden had bound himself, and this was his future mother-in-law!

May left the breakfast-room abruptly and without a word.

She mounted the stairs swiftly. She wanted to be alone. As the servants were still moving about upstairs, she went into the drawing-room.

There was no one there but that living portrait of Stephen Langley, and he was looking at her across the wide s.p.a.ce between them with an almost imperceptible sneer--so she thought.

CHAPTER XV

MRS. POTTEN'S CARELESSNESS

There is little left in Christ Church of the simplicity and piety of the Age of Faith. It was rebuilt when the fine spiritual romanticism of our architectural adolescence had coa.r.s.ened into a prosperous and prosaic middle age.

The western facade of the College is fine, but it is ostentatious for its purpose, and when one pa.s.ses under Tom Tower and enters the quadrangle there is something dreary in the terraces that were intended to be cloistered and the mean windows of the ground floor that were intended to be hidden.

"It is like Harding," said Bingham to himself, as he strolled in with a parcel under his arm. "He is always mistaking Mrs. Grundy for the Holy Ghost. But Harding has his uses," he went on thinking, "and so has Tom Quod--it makes one thankful that Wolsey died before he had time to finish ruining the cathedral."

An elderly canon of Christ Church, with a fine profile and dignified manner, stopped Bingham and demanded to know what he was carrying under his arm.

"Nothing for the wounded," said Bingham. "I've bought a green table-cloth and a pair of bedroom slippers for myself. I've just come from a Sale in which some Oxford ladies are interested. One of the many good works with which we are going strong nowadays."

The Canon turned and walked with Bingham. "Do you know Boreham?" he asked rather abruptly.

Bingham said he did.

"I met him a moment ago. He is taking some lady over the college. I met him at Middleton's, I think, not so long ago."

"He's a connection of Middleton's," said Bingham.

"Oh," said the Canon, "is he? A remarkable person. He gave me his views on Eugenics, I remember."

"He would be likely to give you his views," said Bingham. "Did he want to know yours?"

The Canon laughed. "He pleaded so pa.s.sionately in favour of our preserving the leaven of disease in our racial heredity, so as to insure originality and genius, that I was tempted to indulge in the logical fallacy: 'A dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter,'" and the Canon laughed again.

"His father was a first-rate old rapid," said Bingham, "who ended in an asylum, I believe. His aunt keeps cats; this I know as a fact. His brother, Lord Boreham, as everybody knows, has been divorced twice. What matter? The good old sc.r.a.p-heap has produced Bernard Boreham; what more do you want?"

Bingham's remarks were uttered with even more than his usual suavity of tone because he was annoyed. He had come to the Sale, he had bought the green table-cloth and the shoes, ostensibly as an act of patriotism, but really in order to meet Mrs. Dashwood. He had planned to take her over Christ Church and show her everything, and now Boreham, who had also planned the same thing, had turned up more punctually, had taken her off, and was at this moment going in and out, banging doors and giving erroneous information, along with much talk about himself and his ideas for the improvement of mankind.