Meanwhile, from the watchers left in the quad, came a loud cough.

"Dons!--by Jove! Scatter!" And they rushed further up the staircase, taking refuge in the rooms of two of the "raggers." The lookout in the quadrangle turned to walk quietly towards the porter's lodge. The Senior Tutor--a spare tall man with a Jove-like brow--emerged from the library, and stood on the steps surveying the broken gla.s.s.

"All run to cover, of course!" was his reflection, half scornful, half disgusted. "But I am certain I heard Falloden's voice. What a puppy stage it is! They would be much better employed worrying old boots!"

But philosopher or no, he got no clue. The quadrangle was absolutely quiet and deserted, save for the cheeping of the swallows flitting across it, and the whistling of a lad in the porter's lodge. The Senior Tutor returned to the library, where he was unpacking a box of new books.

The rioters emerged at discreet intervals, and rejoined each other in the broad street outside the college.

"Vengeance is still due!"--said Falloden, towering among them, always with the faithful and grinning Meyrick at his side--"and we will repay.

But now, to our tents! Ta, ta!" And dismissing them all, including Meyrick, he walked off alone in the direction of Holywell. He was going to look out a horse for Constance Bledlow.

As he walked, he said to himself that he was heartily sick of this Oxford life, ragging and all. It was a good thing it was so nearly done.

He meant to get his First, because he didn't choose, having wasted so much time over it, not to get it. But it wouldn't give him any particular pleasure to get it. The only thing that really mattered was that Constance Bledlow was in Oxford, and that when his schools were over, he would have nothing to do but to stay on two or three weeks and force the running with her. He felt himself immeasurably older than his companions with whom he had just been rioting. His mind was set upon a man's interests and aims--marriage, travel, Parliament; they were still boys, without a mind among them. None the less, there was an underplot running through his consciousness all the time as to how best to punish Radowitz--both for his throw, and his impertinence in monopolising a certain lady for at least a quarter of an hour on the preceding evening.

At the well-known livery-stables in Holywell, he found a certain animation. Horses were in demand, as there were manoeuvres going on in Blenheim Park, and the minds of both dons and undergraduates were drawn thither. But Falloden succeeded in getting hold of the manager and absorbing his services at once.

"Show you something really good, fit for a lady?"

The manager took him through the stables, and Falloden in the end picked out precisely the beautiful brown mare of which he had spoken to Constance.

"n.o.body else is to ride her, please, till the lady I am acting for has tried her," he said peremptorily to Fox. "I shall try her myself to-morrow. And what about a groom?--a decent fellow, mind, with a decent livery."

He saw a possible man and another horse, reserving both provisionally.

Then he walked hurriedly to his lodgings to see if by any chance there were a note for him there. He had wired to his mother the day before, telling her to write to Constance Bledlow and Mrs. Hooper by the evening's post, suggesting that, on Thursday before the Eights, Lady Laura should pick her up at Medburn House, take her to tea at Falloden's lodgings and then on to the Eights. Lady Laura was to ask for an answer addressed to the lodgings.

He found one--a little note with a crest and monogram he knew well.

Medburn House.

"Dear Mr. Falloden,--I am very sorry I can not come to tea to-morrow. But my aunt and cousins seem to have made an engagement for me. No doubt I shall see Lady Laura at the boats. My aunt thanks her for her kind letter.

"Yours very truly,

"Constance Bledlow."

Falloden bit his lip. He had reckoned on an acceptance, having done everything that had been prescribed to him; and he felt injured. He walked on, fuming and meditating, to Vincent's Club, and wrote a reply.

"DEAR LADY CONSTANCE,--A thousand regrets! I hope for better luck next time. Meanwhile, as you say, we shall meet to-morrow at the Eights. I have spent much time to-day in trying to find you a horse, as we agreed. The mare I told you of is really a beauty. I am going to try her to-morrow, and will report when we meet. I admire your nepticular (I believe _neptis_ is the Latin for niece) docility!

"Yours sincerely,

"DOUGLAS FALLODEN."

"Will that offend her?" he thought. "But a pin-p.r.i.c.k is owed. I was distinctly given to understand that if the proprieties were observed, she would come."

In reality, however, he was stimulated by her refusal, as he was by all forms of conflict, which, for him, made the zest of life.

He shut himself up that evening and the following morning with his Greats work. Then he and Meyrick rushed up to the racket courts in the Parks for an hour's hard exercise, after which, in the highest physical spirits, a splendid figure in his white flannels, with the dark blue cap and sash of the Harrow Eleven--(he had quarrelled with the captain of the Varsity Eleven very early in his Oxford career, and by an heroic sacrifice to what he conceived to be his dignity had refused to let himself be tried for it)--he went off to meet his mother and sister at the railway station.

It was, of course, extremely inconsiderate of his mother to be coming at all in these critical weeks before the schools. She ought to have kept away. And yet he would be very glad to see her--and Nelly. He was fond of his home people, and they of him. They were his belongings--and they were Fallodens. Therefore his strong family pride accepted them, and made the most of them.

But his countenance fell when, as the train slowed into the railway station, he perceived beckoning to him from the windows, not two Fallodens, but four!

"What has mother been about?" He stood aghast. For there were not only Lady Laura and Nelly, but Trix, a child of eleven, and Roger, the Winchester boy of fourteen, who was still at home after an attack of measles.

They beamed at him as they descended. The children were quite aware they were superfluous, and fell upon him with glee.

"You don't want us, Duggy, we know! But we made mother bring us."

"Mother, really you ought to have given me notice!" said her reproachful son. "What am I to do with these brats?"

But the brats hung upon him, and his mother, "fat, fair and forty,"

smiled propitiatingly.

"Oh, my dear Duggy, never mind. They amuse themselves. They've promised to be good. And they get into mischief in London, directly my back's turned. How nice you look in flannels, dear! Are you going to row this afternoon?"

"Well, considering you know that my schools are coming on in a fortnight--" said Falloden, exasperated.

"It's so annoying of them!" said Lady Laura, sighing. "I wanted to bring Nelly up for two or three weeks. We could have got a house. But your father wouldn't hear of it."

"I should rather think not! Mother, do you want me to get a decent degree, or do you not?"

"But of course you're sure to," said Lady Laura with provoking optimism, hanging on his arm. "And now give us some tea, for we're all ravenous!

And what about that girl, Lady Constance?"

"She can't come. Her aunt has made another engagement for her. You'll meet her at the boats."

Lady Laura looked relieved.

"Well then, we can go straight to our tea. But of course I wrote. I always do what you tell me, Duggy. Come along, children!"

"Trix and I got a packet of Banbury cakes at Didcot," reported Roger, in triumph, showing a greasy paper. "But we've eat 'em all."

"Little pigs!" said Falloden, surveying them. "And now I suppose you're going to gorge again?"

"We shall disgrace you!" shouted both the children joyously--"we knew we should!"

But Falloden hunted them all into a capacious fly, and they drove off to Marmion, where a room had been borrowed for the tea-party. Falloden sat on the box with folded arms and a sombre countenance. Why on earth had his mother brought the children? It was revolting to have to appear on the barge with such a troop. And all his time would be taken up with looking after them--time which he wanted for quite other things.

However, he was in for it. At Marmion he led the party through two quads and innumerable pa.s.sages, till he pointed to a dark staircase up which they climbed, each member of the family--except the guide--talking at the top of their voices. On the third floor, Falloden paused and herded them into the room of a shy second-year man, very glad to do such a "blood" as Falloden a kindness, and help entertain his relations.

"Well, thank G.o.d, I've got you in!" said Falloden gloomily, as he shut the door behind the last of them.

"How Duggy does hustle us! I've had nothing of a tea!" said Roger, looking resentfully, his mouth full of cake, at his elder brother, who was already beginning to take out his watch, to bid his mother and sisters resume their discarded jackets, and to send a scout for a four-wheeler.

But Falloden was inexorable. He tore his sister Nelly, a soft fluffy creature of seventeen, away from the shy attentions of the second-year man, scoffed in disgust at Trix's desire for chocolates after a Gargantuan meal, and declared that they would all be late for the Eights, if any more gorging was allowed. His mother rose obediently. To be seen with such a son in the crowded Oxford streets filled her with pride. She could have walked beside him for hours.