The New Rector. Weyman Stanley John
asking him if he likes Downing Street," Lindo suggested slyly. "There, she is coming now," he added, as Miss Daintry turned and came to them at last.
"I wanted to make sure," she said simply, seeing Kate's impatience, "that I should know them again. That was all."
"Quite so; I hope you have succeeded," Kate answered drily. "But, if we are not quick, we shall miss our train." And she led the way back with more speed than dignity.
"There is plenty of time-plenty of time," Lindo answered, following them. He could not bear to see her pushing her way through the mixed crowd, and accepting so easily a footing of equality with it. He was one of those men to whom their womenkind are sacred. He took his time, therefore, and followed at his ease; only to see, when he emerged from the press, a long stretch of empty platform, three porters, and the tail of a departing train. "Good gracious!" he stammered, with dismay in his face. "What does it mean?"
"It means," Kate said, in an accent of sharp annoyance-she did not intend to spare him-"that you have made us miss our train, Mr. Lindo. And there is not another which reaches Claversham today!"
CHAPTER IV
BIRDS IN THE WILDERNESS
"There! That was your fault!" said Daintry, turning from the departing train.
The young rector could not deny it. He would have given anything for at least the appearance of being undisturbed; but the blood came into his cheek, and in his attempt to maintain his dignity he only succeeded in looking angry as well as confused and taken aback. He had certainly made a mess of his escort duty. What in the world had led him to go out of his way to make a fool of himself? he wondered. And with these Claversham people!
"There may be a special train to-day," Kate suggested suddenly. She had got over her first vexation, and perhaps repented that she had betrayed it so openly. "Or we may be allowed to go on by a luggage-train, Mr. Lindo. Will you kindly see?"
He snatched at the relief which her proposal held out to him, and went away to inquire. But almost at once he was back again. "It is most vexatious!" he said loudly. "It is only three o'clock, and yet there is no way of getting to Claversham to-night! I am very sorry, but I never dreamed the company managed things so badly. Never!"
"No," said Kate drily.
He winced and looked at her sharply, his vanity hurt again. But then he found that he could not keep it up. No doubt it was a ridiculous position for a beneficed clergyman, on his way to undertake the work of his life, to be delayed at a station with two girls; but, after all, for a young man to be angry with a young woman who is also pretty-well, the task is difficult. "I am afraid," he said shyly, and yet with a kind of frankness, "that I have brought you into trouble, Miss Bonamy. As your sister says, it was my fault. Is it a matter of great consequence that you should reach home tonight?"
"I am afraid that my father will be vexed," she answered.
"You must telegraph to him," he rejoined. "I am afraid that is all I can suggest. And that done, you will have only one thing to consider-whether we shall stay the night here or go on to Birmingham."
Kate looked at him, her gray eyes very doubtful, and did not at once answer. He had clearly made up his mind to join his fortunes to theirs, while she, on her side, had reasons for shrinking from intimacy with him. But he seemed to consider it so much a matter of course that they should remain together and travel together, that she scarcely saw how to put things on a different footing. She knew, too, that she would get no help from Daintry, who already regarded their detention in the light of a capital joke.
"What are you going to do yourself, Mr. Lindo?" she said at last, her manner rather chilling.
He opened his eyes and smiled. "You discard me, then?" he said. "You have lost all faith in me, Miss Bonamy? Well, I deserve it after the scrape into which I have led you."
"I did not mean that," she answered. "I wished to know if you had made any plans."
"Yes," he replied-"to make amends, if you will let me take command of the party. We will stay in Oxford, and I will show you round the colleges."
"No?" exclaimed Daintry. "Will you? How jolly! And then?"
"We will dine at the Mitre," he answered, smiling, "if Miss Bonamy will permit me to manage everything. And then, if you leave here at nine-thirty to-morrow you will be at Claversham soon after twelve. Will that suit you?"
Daintry's face answered sufficiently for her. As for Kate, she was in a difficulty. She knew little of hotels: yet they must stop somewhere, and no doubt Mr. Lindo would take a great deal of trouble off her hands. But would it be proper to do as he proposed? She really did not know-only that it sounded odd. That it would not be wise she knew. She could answer that question at once. But how could she explain, and how tell him to go his way and leave them? And, after all, to see Oxford would be delightful; and he really was very pleasant, very different from the men she knew at home.
"You are very good," she said at length, with a grateful sigh-"if we have no choice but between Oxford and Birmingham."
"And no choice of guides at all," he said, smiling, "you will take me."
"Yes," she answered, looking away primly.
Her reserve, however, did not last. Once through the station gates, that free holiday feeling which we have all experienced on being set down in an unknown town, with no duty before us save to explore it, soon possessed her; while he wished nothing better than to play the showman-a part we love. The day was fine and bright, though cold. She had eyes for beauty and a soul for the past, and soon forgot herself; and he, piloting the sisters through Magdalen Walks, now strewn with leaves, or displaying with pride the staircase of Christ Church, the quaint library of Merton, or the ancient front of John's, forgot himself also, and especially his new-born dignity, in which he had lived rather too much, perhaps, during the last three weeks. He showed himself in his true colors-the colors known to his intimate friends-and was so bright and cheery that Kate found herself talking to him in utter forgetfulness of his position and theirs. The girl frankly sighed when darkness fell and they had to go into the house, their curiosity still unsated.
She thought it was all over. But, lo! there was a cheery fire awaiting them in the "house" room (he had looked in for a few minutes on their first arrival and given his orders), and before it a little table laid for three was sparkling with plate and glass. Nay, there were two cups of tea ready on a side-table, for it wanted an hour yet of dinnertime. Altogether, as Daintry naïvely told him, "even Jack could not have made it nicer for us."
"Jack is a favorite of yours?" he said, laughing.
"I should think so!" Daintry answered, in wonder. "There is no one like Jack."
"After that I shall take myself off," he replied. "I really want to call on a friend, Miss Bonamy. But if I may join you at dinner-"
"Oh, do!" she said impulsively. Then, more shyly, she added, "We shall be very glad if you will, Mr. Lindo."
He felt singularly pleased with himself as he turned the windy corner of the Broad. It was pleasant to be in Oxford again, a beneficed clergyman. Pleasant to have such a future to look forward to, such a holiday moment to enjoy. Pleasant to anticipate the cheery meal and the girl's smile, half shy, half grateful. And Kate? – she remained before the fire, saying little because Daintry's tongue gave few openings, but thinking a good deal. Once she did speak. "It won't last," she said pettishly.
"Why, Kate? Do you think he will be different at Claversham?" Daintry protested.
"Of course he will!" She spoke with a little scorn in her voice, and that sort of decision which we use when we wish to crush down our own unwarranted hopes.
"But he is nice," Daintry persisted. "You do think so, Kate, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, he is very nice," she said drily. "But he will be in the Hammond set at home, and we shall see nothing of him."
But presently he was back, and Kate found it impossible to resist the charm. He ladled the soup and dispensed the mutton-chops with a gaiety and boyish glee which were really the stored-up effervescence of weeks, the ebullition of the long-repressed delight which he took in his promotion. He learned casually