But it isn't true of me now. With the exception of a dinner in my rooms on the second night of the term, after which occurred some insubordination for which I was not responsible, nothing of the sort mentioned here has happened. I have been one of the quietest men in the college. It is my fixed intention to bring an action for libel against this man Piper," he continued, with a slight return to his former manner, "if this goes on, and if you don't see your way of stopping it, sir. It is intolerable."

"You will not find it necessary to do that, Mr. Binney," said the Dean.

"I will see that it is stopped. You had better leave these papers with me."

It did not add to Piper's amiability when it came to his turn to be interviewed, to be told by the Dean that he had perused several numbers of the _New Court Chronicle_, and that it was about time that publication came to an end. He allowed Piper to argue the point, but when he found that they were no nearer an agreement on it than before, he told him peremptorily that he had made up his mind that the paper should be stopped, and stopped it must be. He pointed out several offensive articles aimed at the authorities of the University and Colleges, and alluded very little to the "Binney Correspondence," and finally found it necessary to tell Mr. Piper that he might choose between publishing another number of the paper and remaining at Cambridge.

So the _New Court Chronicle_ came to an end, and neither Mr. Binney nor Lucius suffered any further annoyances from the printed expression of Piper's malice. The effects of the hitherto published instalments of the "Binney Correspondence," however, did not end there as far as Mr.

Binney was concerned, as will afterwards, appear.

CHAPTER XII

LUCIUS MAKES ONE DISCOVERY AND MRS. TOLLER ANOTHER

Lucius was out and about again, not much the worse for his late encounter, by the time Tuesday came round, when he was to lunch with his cousin. He was in fairly good spirits as he walked down the King's Parade and Silver Street, towards the ancient pile of Queens' College.

He and his father were better friends than they had been any time since Mr. Binney had come into residence at Cambridge. Mr. Binney now comported himself with the dignity that befitted his years, and no longer made his son's life a burden to him by those continued indiscretions which had brought shame and confusion of face to Lucius in the past. He had restored his full allowance, and Lucius was better off in pocket than he had been since Mr. Binney had come up. And then the Newnham girl, to whom somehow he seemed to be getting nearer, now that he had discovered that she and his cousin were fellow-students, had distinctly given him a glance of recognition when he had seen her in King's Chapel on the previous Sunday. It was not much to pride himself on, certainly, but such as it was he had hugged the thought of it ever since. She had been sitting with some other girls in the front row of seats as Lucius walked up the chapel, and he had taken particular notice of those other girls when he had manoeuvred himself into a seat opposite her, in case one of them should turn out to be his cousin.

John Jermyn kept in a charming set of oak-panelled rooms over-looking the river.

There was an elderly lady sitting in the window seat as Lucius entered, who rose to greet him. She was tall and graceful, with a sweet face and grey hair.

"You are very like your dear mother," she said, her eyes growing a little moist as she looked at him. "We used to be great friends in days gone by, but that is twenty years ago now."

Lucius sat and talked to her in the window seat, while John Jermyn wandered about the room with his hands in his pockets casting impatient glances at the clock on the mantelpiece and the lunch on the table.

"Betty is late," he said. "I told her half-past one, and it is getting on for a quarter to two."

"We had better not wait any longer," said Mrs. Jermyn, rising. But just then light steps were heard on the staircase, the door opened, and disclosed to Lucius's astonished gaze the form and features of the Newnham girl.

Miss Betty Jermyn came forward, rosy and a little out of breath, with murmured apologies, kissed her mother and her brother, and then waited with a deepening blush and a mischievous light in her eyes, to be introduced to Lucius, for whom the low dark room seemed suddenly to have become filled with brilliant sunshine.

"This is jour cousin Lucius, Betty," said Mrs. Jermyn, and the two shook hands, but found no words with which to address one another.

In the course of luncheon it came out in the most natural way that Betty and Lucius had attended the same lecture in Trinity College all last term, and remembered one another perfectly.

"But you must have known who I was," said Lucius, a sudden light breaking in on him, as he remembered those little glances of amus.e.m.e.nt which had so thrilled his soul last term. "Gandey always used to read out our names after the lecture."

"Yes, I knew who you were," said Betty, with a little laugh. "And I wondered how long it would be before you knew who _I_ was."

Lucius felt that when he was alone again he would be very angry with himself for not having cultivated the society of his cousin John more a.s.siduously, and also for having refused Mrs. Jermyn's invitation to stay with them in the Christmas vacation, but at present he was so happy that there was no room for regrets.

It was quite apparent to the maternal eyes of Mrs. Jermyn before lunch was half over that this nice boy with his mother's eyes was head over ears in love with her pretty little daughter, whom she still looked upon as a child, in spite of the dignity conferred upon her by a scholarship at Newnham. Her son, of course, saw nothing of the sort, but he was pleased to find that his cousin, who was something of a hero in his eyes, seemed to have taken a fancy to his sister, whom he found it constantly necessary to keep in her place. He was afraid that Betty would never learn to show reverence where reverence was due, but it was a relief to find that Lucius apparently did not take her little audacities amiss, and indeed seemed to be even amused by them. What Mrs. Jermyn thought, it would not become us to disclose, but she accepted Lucius's invitation for the whole party to lunch with him on the next day, and her cordiality towards him had suffered no diminution when they parted.

It was curious that Mr. Binney's name was not once mentioned between them. John Jermyn had given his mother a rather highly coloured account of our hero's peccadillos, and Betty had added her little comments, for the fame of Mr. Binney's exploits had penetrated even the walls of Newnham College.

"Oh, mother," she had said, "you really can't have anything to do with cousin Peter. He is a horrid little man and leads Lucius such a life, so everybody says. And Lucius is so popular with all the men. It is a great shame."

"I never cared for Mr. Binney very much," said Mrs. Jermyn, "but I should like you to ask Lucius to meet us, John. I should like to see dear Lucy's boy, although I saw very little of her after her marriage."

So Lucius had come, been seen and had conquered, and went away again full of delighted wonder at the surprising thing that had happened.

His first desire was to find the sympathetic Dizzy and impart to him the astounding news. He tracked him down at the racquet courts and brought him away when he had finished his game.

"I say, old man," he said in as calm a tone as he could muster, "I've found out the name of that girl at last. What do you think it is?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Dizzy, who had lost his match, and was as nearly inclined to pessimism as was consistent with his equable nature.

"Henrietta, I should think, or Lulu, or Kate. Parents haven't any taste nowadays. Look at mine christening me Benjamin. Stubbs is bad enough, but Benjamin! 'Pon my word I sometimes feel inclined to get it changed by Act of Parliament."

"Her name is Elizabeth J----"

"Yes, it would be," interrupted Dizzy. "Elizabeth Jones. Just what I said. Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"I didn't say Elizabeth Jones," said Lucius. "Elizabeth is a very pretty name, especially when it's shortened to Betty. Her surname isn't Jones, it's Jermyn."

"Oh, is it? Well, I'm not so sure that--_what_! JERMYN!! You don't mean to say----?"

"Yes, I do," said Lucius triumphantly. "That very girl is my cousin at Newnham, and no other."

"Well, I'm blowed!" exclaimed Dizzy. "But there, Lucy, I always told you if you'd only take the trouble to hunt your cousin down, or rather up, she'd turn out to be a topper. And I was right. When are you going to have her to tea?"

"She's coming to lunch to-morrow," said Lucius.

"I'm engaged to-morrow, I'm afraid," said Dizzy. "Going to lunch with Blathgowrie. I dare say I could get off it, though."

"You needn't try," said Lucius; "but I'll get her to tea some day soon, before her mother goes away, and then you can come. Oh, my goodness!

What a chance for a fellow! to be head over ears in love with a girl, and think he's never going to get to know her, and then for her to turn out to be his own cousin after all."

"Did she say anything about me?" inquired Dizzy.

"About you? No. Why should she?"

"Why shouldn't she, you mean. I'm a very striking looking feller. She must have noticed me in the lecture-room last term."

"You needn't trouble yourself that she'll waste many thoughts on _you_."

"Oh, all right, old man. Keep your wool on. Now, don't forget to ask me to tea one of these days. I won't try and cut you out; you can rely on me."

The remainder of that week pa.s.sed like a happy dream to Lucius. He managed to spend some time every day with his cousins, found his way right inside Mrs. Jermyn's heart, and seemed to make very good headway up to a certain point with Betty. That is to say, they became excellent friends, and were on perfectly familiar terms, but at the end of the week he was no nearer knowing whether she reciprocated his admiration than at the beginning, for beyond a certain point he was never allowed to go. When Sat.u.r.day came, Mrs. Jermyn went away and left Lucius desolated. But she had already asked him to stay with them in Norfolk during the Easter vacation, and he was left in by no means such a state of hopeless longing as before, for he managed to meet his cousin pretty often during the rest of the term, and although he was never allowed to enjoy the pleasure of her company for very long, she seldom met him without a few words of conversation pa.s.sing between them, which gave Lucius something to live for now that the University boat had gone to Putney and left him behind in Cambridge.

Mrs. Jermyn had not been able to avoid Mr. Binney altogether during her stay at Cambridge. She thought that she ought to see something of him now that his son seemed likely to become an intimate friend in her family. Accordingly Mr. Binney was notified of her arrival, and called on her at the "Bull" where she was staying. Mr. Binney had not yet recovered from the events narrated in the last two chapters, and was in a depressed and dull state of mind. He quite forgot to patronize Mrs.

Jermyn on the fact of her son being a scholar of Queens' College, while he was a pensioner of Trinity, as he certainly would have done a few months before. Mrs. Jermyn talked chiefly about his wife, and Mr.

Binney, who had been a widower for fifteen years, and had set up the image of Mrs. Higginbotham in the niche left vacant by the death of Lucius's mother, followed her lead with some uneasiness of mind. There was no warmth of feeling between them, and each was mutually relieved when Mr. Binney rose to take his leave. He apologised for not asking his cousins to lunch, but explained that he had to be down on the river early every afternoon, and Mrs. Jermyn was not sorry that the invitation was not given.

Mr. Binney, of course, still corresponded regularly with Mrs.

Higginbotham. He had refrained from sending her the _New Court Chronicle_, or, indeed, from mentioning that feature of it which most nearly concerned him, for some slight sense of dignity, which he had appeared to have relinquished during the Michaelmas term, had returned to him, and he was not anxious to have it known that he was treated with ridicule. He wrote about his work and about the prospects of the First Trinity first Lent boat, and if his letter did betoken a depression of spirits, the tender Mrs. Higginbotham put this down to his separation from her and threw a wealth of affection and sympathy into her replies, which greatly consoled Mr. Binney during his trying time. She also expressed herself delighted with the improvement in conduct displayed by her undergraduate lover, for, although Mrs.

Higginbotham liked to read stories of youthful daring and devilry, when theory resolved itself into practice her mind recoiled affrighted. Mr.

Binney was fond of imagery, and he often a.s.sured Mrs. Higginbotham at this time that her love and confidence in him was the rock to which he clung while the waves of adversity buffeted him; it was also an anchor, and a port, and a city of refuge; a ray of sunshine, a star, a beacon, a lantern; a refreshing fountain, an oasis in the desert, a cup of cold water; a buckler, and a good many other things. Mrs. Higginbotham made no attempt to discover what the waves of adversity were that were reported to be buffeting Mr. Binney. She liked his poetical method of expressing himself; she said it made her feel warm all over, and there she let the matter rest.

But there was a serpent in this garden of mutual esteem. If Mrs.