Chapter V

(i)

TTAROLD BANISTER strolled out on to the lawn - with his hands in his pockets, passing on the garden-steps the footman who was carrying back to the house the remnants of the twelve-o'clock post. The remnants consisted of two letters directed to Harold Banister, Esq., in a clerkly hand, in envelopes bearing the Oxford postmark, with suspiciously rounded flaps. Harold put them in his pocket, and passed on under the cedar. There he found his mother as he had expected. She woke up from a letter.

" Algy's coming by the six forty-nine," she said with an air of vague discomfort. " He says he's got something to tell us."

" Oh," said Harold.

He sat down and crossed his legs.

" I say, mother, can I have the motor to take me over to the Farquharsons? "

She looked at him still vaguely distraite.

" Oh, yes," she said. " I suppose so.... I wonder what the boy means."

" Bother Algy! And may it wait for me? "

She started.

" The motor? Oh, yes, if your father doesn't want it. But you'll have to stop at the station to pick up Algy."

Harold grunted.

(There was some lawn tennis at the Farquharsons', eight miles off. Sybil had remarked in a postscript of a formal little note she had written to him that she would be there....)

" Six forty-nine did you say? "

" Yes — six forty-nine," murmured Mrs. Banister, gathering up her envelopes and departing.

Harold sat on, and after registering a resolution that seven o'clock would be in plenty of time, began to think about Sybil.

The situation had been strangely shifted by Theo's death. It was as when diamonds become trumps in the ingenious game of Jacoby. An unimportant personage, while remaining personally unimportant, had become officially significant; and it was difficult to know under which aspect to deal with him. Algy was as unsuited as ever to his environment, as slightly out of tune, yet he was the heir, and his attitude towards things now mattered. For example, in disposing of a certain outlying wood belonging to Crowston estate Mr. Banister had thought it necessary to mention the affair to Algy; the bearing of the servants had undergone a minute but perfectly perceptible change; a groom had once hesitated for a fraction of a second at receiving an order from Harold to saddle a certain much-coveted mare; and all this kind of thing had been unheard of a year before.

Harold acquiesced well enough; indeed, there was nothing else to do; in fact, he himself had begun to treat Algy with just the faintest suspicion of respect. But there were times when he resented it,

His own affairs were not brilliantly flourishing. His relations with Sybil were as satisfactory as ever, but not more so; nor were there any particular prospects of their becoming so. Further, he had played the fool rather at Oxford, and was exactly two hundred pounds poorer than he ought to have been, as his father had bitterly pointed out, And now there were two more bills.

He drew them out of his pocket.

Yes, they were polite enough, for he was still a freshman; but nineteen pounds seven shillings and threepence at a livery stable, and twenty-three pounds eleven shillings and fourpence at a wine merchant and tobacconist, amount to forty-two pounds eighteen shillings and seven pence — (at least, I think so). He tore them carefully into minute pieces, inserted them into an envelope, and crumpled the whole into a tight ball, which he replaced in his pocket. Then he began to review the situation with the help of a cigarette.

First of all there was himself.

Harold was perfectly charming; but he did not possess the virtue of being able to look at things from any standpoint except his own. He was geocentrical. He was, as it were, the earth, and Sybil the moon; his his parents were the larger stars, and Algy a kind of comet that approached rapidly through space. He had not yet found a Personage important enough to be represented by the sun. The comet was the important thing, and he did not quite know what its advent portended. For Algy had begun to bewilder him.

There had been the affair with Mary Maple last year, which had had such a surprising termination, Harold was no fool, and he had understood the position, but what he did not at all understand was why, when the coast was obviously cleared by Theo's death, Algy had seemed to take the alarm. They still saw a good deal of Mary; in fact, she was in the house now; but she had become subdued and rather more femininely feminine.

Now if Algy had advanced towards Mary the situation would have been more intelligible; it was but proper that the eldest son should at least show signs of matrimony; but it was irritating that Harold himself should have this desire with no means of gratifying it, and that Algy, with all the means, should have none of the desire, He felt a vague resentment at the thought.

He had written to his father once from Oxford, in a burst of confidence, signifying that he would like to know, even in the most general terms, what his own prospects were to be; but Mr. Banister's letter, written immediately after the reception of one from Harold's tutor, had not been reassuring; he had told him that his business was to read his books at Oxford, keep within his allowance, and not to be a young fool. And Harold could not but grant that there was justice in these remarks.

He was just finishing his cigarette, when Mary came out; and he watched her come down the steps* very upright and dignified, in a large straw hat. He quite liked Mary; she was always pleasant and deferential; she appeared and disappeared at the proper feminine times; she occasionally asked him to do small jobs for her which flattered his pride, such as giving an opinion upon her bicycle, and recommending treatment for an invalid dog she had at home. And she never attempted the faintest familiarity in referring to Miss Sybil Markham.

" Algy's coming down by the six forty-nine," announced Harold as she stood looking down at him. " It's a beastly bore."

Her eyelids fluttered with discreet amusement.

" How most brotherly! " she said.

Harold laughed pleasantly.

" Well, he is rather an old lump, isn't he? " he said. " But I didn't mean that. I meant that I've got to call for him in the motor."

" I hope you'll be punctual," she said, sitting down and taking off her hat.

" Oh, seven o'clock'll do for Algy. Train's sure to be late. Have a cigarette? "

Mary's eyes stole softly to right and left, for she knew this house to be a trifle old-fashioned.

" No gardeners about? " she observed.

" Blow the gardeners," said Harold, and held out his case.

She took one, and held out her hand for his. Harold gave it, and with a pleasant sense of intimacy watched her hold the glowing end to the end of the other; and her long-lashed downcast eyes, and her pursed mouth, and her coils of shining hair. (What a fool Algy was! She would have done so well!)

" I say; I'm going to the Farquharsons."

" Yes? " said Mary, breathing out fragrant smoke.

" Sybil's to be there. Shall I give her your love? "

" Do," said Mary, without the faintest sign of consciousness. " I do like that girl."

" So do I," said Harold earnestly, watching her.

But Mary smoked on without a tremor.

" She's just like a Gainsborough," she observed presently. " And will go on looking more and more like a French marquise every year she lives."

Harold's soul was filled with delight. It was a precious consolation to him to talk like this without personal matters being even hinted at. In the depths of his heart he recognised the tact, but it was not obtrusive enough to annoy him. He positively loved Mary at this moment.

And she talked on for a few minutes with sublime discretion, saying a little more about Sybil, and then about the horse she would ride this afternoon, and o 193 then about this and that and the other, and then back to Sybil again. It was perfectly done; there was no significant insistence upon Sybil, yet she was there, underneath all the time, and emerged again at the proper moment for Harold's consolation. Then, at last, when the boy, sadly remembering that he must see about the motor, left her and went in, a very subtle change passed over her face; she let the cigarette burn itself out unheeded, and sat looking before her at the hot air above the flower beds.

(n)

When Harold, rather cross, drew up at five minutes past seven at the station, he was informed that Mr. Algernon had walked on, leaving his luggage to be picked up. Five minutes later he caught sight of him ahead, walking strenuously, up a little slope, between woods, his straw hat in his hand.

The two brothers greeted one another unemotionally, Algy climbed in, sat down, fanning himself, and they moved on.

Algy seemed rather constrained, thought the boy. He made short, deliberate answers, and looked steadily ahead. Finally Harold put his inquisitiveness into words —

" I say, what have you got to tell mother? "

Algy's mouth twitched slightly; he stared straight ahead of him.

" You'll hear this evening," he said abruptly.

Harold subsided with indignation. Then after a pause Algy went on, with a faintly defiant air.

" Look here, Harold. I can't tell you now, because it isn't fair. You'll know this evening. Remember I shan't mind what side you take."

" That's most satisfactory," remarked the other with fierce irony. " And so jolly explicit."

Algy made no answer, and they turned into the lodge gates in silence.

But Harold had an idea, and his brain worked upon it busily. It was plain that it was something important, that it concerned the family, and that the family would consider it unsatisfactory. So much was plain; and his mind therefore instantly leaped to a conclusion.

By the swan-pond he put it into words.

" How old is she? " he said coolly.

Algy turned with such abruptness and with so much amazed a face that for an instant Harold thought himself on the right tack. Then the other laughed frankly.

" Rather under nineteen hundred years," he said.

"Funny ass!" murmured Harold vindictively, thinking himself mocked.

As the house came into sight from the top of the rise, Algy drew a long breath, and leaned forward, pressing his hands between his knees, and there was in his bearing such an apprehensiveness that once more Harold thought he had made a right guess. It was perhaps a barmaid, but more likely an actress or a milliner. Beyond such a catastrophe as this his mind did not soar. And the estate was entailed, and Algy was of full age, and nothing could be done.... Well, well; his father perhaps could not do much, but at least he could say a good deal; and with a kind of childish zest Harold chuckled interiorly. He at least would not be the only disgrace to the family. He would seem even virtuous by contrast.

Mrs. Banister was positively waiting in the hall when they arrived, and her mild eyes seemed discontented.

" Well, my son? " she said, as she kissed Algy.

" After dinner," he said.

But she hung about him as he put by his hat and stick, and stood rather indecisively as he passed towards the inner door.

" It's all right, mother," smiled Algy. " At least-She turned to Harold.

" What is it? Did he tell you? "

Harold shook his head; and Mrs. Banister, after a weak effort to appear unconcerned, walked off towards her room.

Algy was far more frightened than he had anticipated. Somehow the sight of the house, its solidity, its uncompromising Britishness, the opulent and respectable park, the immovability of the air of the hall with its portraits and its crossed pikes — all combined to make him realise more than ever the appalling bomb he was presently to explode. That a Banister should become a Papist! It was unthinkable. And down there, half a mile away, was the little Norman church, undoubtedly Papist in its origin, yet undoubtedly now Protestant in every stone, in every smell — with all the mild and benevolent machinery of the parish, with its " room," its Christmas concerts, its unostentatious relief, its Mr. Mortimer and its whiskered Vicar. And all formed a picture — more than a picture, a living tableau, a scheme of life — in which Papistry would be as much out of place as a tragedy-queen in a mothers' meeting.

And the worst of it was that Algy was entirely convinced...,

He went straight up to his room, sat down on the window seat and began to stare at the grass slope up which the drive went. He felt he simply could not face his mother; it would be on false pretences. He had run from her just now under the spur of that instinct.

For the fiftieth time he began to wonder how exactly they would take it. He did not for a moment believe that his father would storm like a theatrical parent, nor that he would amicably consent, nor that he would burst into pathetic sobs; and Algy's imagination did not suggest to him any other methods of receiving such a shock. It was, in fact, unthinkable. There was no precedent. It was as if this blameless though passionate Justice of the Peace were faced by such a problem as, let us say, the Judgment of Paris; or as if he were required at a moment's notice to pronounce a discourse upon Tintoretto's art.

As to his mother, he was hardly more adequate to judge. Neither tears nor fury would be in the least possible, still less was acquiescence. Then what—

At this moment he saw from his window Mary Maple suddenly turn the corner of the shrubbery and advance up the gravel sweep; and at the sight a dim hope dawned upon him. He would make his confession publicly, in the drawing-room — Mary's presence would at least help to make the atmosphere equable. Nothing very outrageous could happen if she were there.

But was it fair?... He hesitated.... Yes, it was perfectly fair. She would be a help, not a hindrance, all round. She was sufficiently at home here to be treated in this way. After all, he was doing the courageous thing in making the announcement at all by word of mouth; he was fully justified in taking advantage of what cover he found at hand.

Then once more terror seized upon him; and he sat motionless, in no conflict, since his determination was established, yet none the less beaten upon by fears and images, staring out at the golden grass slopes, as the man opened and shut drawers behind him in the sombre room.

When the hot water had been set ready and the door closed, he went across and turned the key. Then, after an instant's hesitation, he went upon his knees at his bedside, and buried his head among his dress-clothes.

(m)

Mr. Banister sat in suggestive silence after the ladies had gone that evening, glancing up uneasily under his bushy eyebrows at his son and heir opposite. He thought it would be kind to give the boy an opportunity of breaking the news first to his father. But Algy made no sign; he seemed a little white; his hand, Harold noticed, shook ever so slightly as he took a cigarette and lighted it at a candle.

When the coffee had gone out the old man made an attempt.

" You have something to tell us, my boy, haven't you? "

Algy swallowed in his throat.

" Yes," he said.

" Nothing... nothing you would like to tell me first, eh? "

"I'd sooner tell it in the drawing-room," said Algy desperately.

" What! Before Miss Maple? "

" I... I think so."

It gave great relief to the old man to hear his son say that. He too had had vague forebodings of some matrimonial tangle, or of something even less reputable. Not that Algy was not steady; he had never had a word to say against that; but, well... one never knew. However, that was settled, and Mr. Banister drew upon his cigarette with more confidence. A new theory, which had suggested itself secondarily before, now rose clear above the horizon. It was sure to be some wild scheme — shooting big game or something. Well, that was nothing very serious. Perhaps even it concerned the North Pole, or a flying machine; and here Mr. Banister's imagination drooped its weary wings.

When his cigarette was but half consumed he dropped it into his finger-glass and placed his hands on the table in the attitude of a frog.

" Well," he said, " shall we "

Years afterwards Algy remembered the exact appearance of the drawing-room as he followed his father into it.

It was a long room; and they entered it at the end. On the right stood a rosewood table with a lamp upon it. On the left were three windows, and at the further end on either side of the great mirror were two more, and all were open to the soft summer air and light that faded every instant. In the corner opposite glimmered a white swan-screen; another table stood beyond^the fire-place in the diagonally opposite corner, and before it was drawn up a sofa, upon which sat the two women, with their backs to the second lamp; and these both looked up with a strangely expectant air as the men came in. There were a few easy chairs here and there, and a dozen little gilded rout-chairs upon the stained boards.

His father went straight across to the high white mantelpiece and faced about, instinctively gathering his coat-tails beneath him. Harold sat down instantly behind the rosewood table; and Algy, advancing to the edge of the big Persian hearth-rug, stopped, gripping the back of a rout-chair in his damp hand. He determined to speak standing. He now faced his parents and Mary, a couple of yards away from them. " Now then, my boy," said his father genially. " Algy's got an announcement to make, Miss Maple.... No, don't move."

Now Dick Yolland had strongly advised the communication to be made first by letter; but I think I understand why Algy preferred not, and indeed his reasons (though I do not agree with them) for doing it in this very theatrical manner. He was terrified, and he wished not to yield to terror in the smallest degree.

But in this instant he had a violent reaction. It seemed to him, when faced by actuality, to be almost indecent to announce a change of religious conviction in a drawing-room after dinner. He jerked the chair back and sat down.

" Now then, my boy," said his father again, looking at him curiously.

No, said Algy to himself; he had begun and he would go through with it. He licked his lips, glanced at his mother who was looking at him, and at Mary,

I who dropped her eyes instantly. " It... it... I'm afraid you won't like it, father." •

" Come, come, my boy; let's have it," said the old man sharply.

Algy drew a long breath, to steady his heart that, like a working machine, pulsated and shook him to his finger-tips.

" It's this," he said. "I... I'm going to become a Roman Catholic."

The instant he had said the words he perceived how they had gone home. They were as a bullet fired into the body of a man, producing a violent shock, but no sensation. He perceived how the three whom he could see were for two or three seconds reduced to a state of petrifaction. His father's coattails sank from his relaxed hands. His mother remained poised, one hand a little upraised. Mary stared straight at him, with her hands in her lap. From Harold behind came no sound.

The tension grew tighter yet. To Algy himself it was as a string stretched to breaking; and the pause seemed interminable. Then some sound came from his mother's lips, and she dropped her hand. At the sound and movement the old man jerked back into consciousness; and Algy intuitively turned to face him.

" Come, come, my boy...." And the voice checked as if some cord snapped under a strain.^

" I'm very sorry," said Algy. " I was afraid you wouldn't like it... but, you see..."

Then he went off in a broken torrent of explanation. He could hardly tell me what he said; he hardly knew.

He chattered of his conscience, his convictions, his belief that it was better to be straightforward: he had not yet been received; he had, of course, told his parents first, but nothing could change him; he had waited six months; he had read both sides.... He was conscious of nobody but himself pumping out his justification.

Then across this broke his father's voice again, sharp and irritated.

" Don't talk nonsense, sir...."

Algy brought his trembling lips together, staring at the ruddy face all pale and ashen.

" I — I was prepared for that. It's not nonsense. I'm very sorry, father...."

The twitching face turned from side to side, to the women and back to the boy. Then the man took a step forward, hesitated, and then went swiftly past Algy towards the door by which they had entered. At the threshold he stopped, and a sharp sentence was rapped out by the shaking voice.

" Come with me, sir."

Algy rose, swaying a little, turned and went out after his father, seeing Harold's face look at him from the rosewood table: he passed out, across the anteroom and into the room called the " library." It was here that he had been flogged as a child. He half wondered in that bewilderment whether he was to be flogged again now.

When he had shut the door behind him he stood hesitating. His father, in the shadow cast by the shaded lamp, went straight across to the fire-place, and threw himself into a chair. Then he beckoned to Algy and pointed to a chair opposite. Algy sat down, and gripped the arms.

" Now then," said the trembling voice, struggling to be kind, " tell me all about it, my boy."

Algy drew a long breath and began.

I do not propose to describe what he said. But he told me afterwards that he had been greatly reassured by his father's tone, and, further, that while speaking he regained his self-possession. He mentioned no names except Dick Yolland's who had instructed him; I was " a priest at Cambridge," Chris was " a man I know." Briefly he told his story, he recounted a few elementary arguments; he announced his certainty; and then he sat back once more.

There was complete silence for a minute. Then his father cleared his throat.

"I see what it is, my boy... you've been taken in by these fellows. They're always after eldest sons and all that, you know. This Yolland; he's a Jesuit, I suppose? "

" No, he isn't," said Algy.

" Ah! I expect he is really. They all are, you know. And, of course, they're as clever as the devil. And these other fellows? "

' They're converts. They were once Protestants, too."

" Ah! there's some shady story, depend upon it....

Well, now, my boy, of course all this is just stuff and nonsense. All sensible men know that well enough. This Yolland— who is he? "

" He's a priest... he was an old Winchester boy.... He's always been a Catholic."

" Ah! Well, we mustn't blame him. He was brought up in it, you know. They can't see any better, you know.... Well, now, my boy, you must see the Vicar and have a talk with him. We'll soon knock the bottom out of all this — eh, my boy? "

"I'll see the Vicar, certainly, if you want me to."

" That's right; that's right. I was sure you'd see reason. This kind of thing isn't much in my way, you know. Of course I'm a Protestant and all that; and what's good enough for your father and mother is good enough for you, isn't it, my boy? "

" It... it isn't that, father; it's..."

" Yes, yes, I know, the young generation and all that. But, you know, there are some things we can't stand.... Well, well, I'll ask the Vicar to step up to-morrow. Algy, my boy, you won't say anything to your brother, will you? "

" I must answer him if he asks me questions."

" Yes, yes; but you won't try to make him a Papist, will you? "

" I must answer his questions," repeated Algy steadily.

" Well, weU— that'll be all right.... See here, my boy, I don't know how your mother'll be taking this. I'll just go back and tell her you're behaving like a sensible fellow. We'll soon get all this straight.... We mustn't upset her, you know."

The old man stood up, and Algy rose with him. Even in this half light the boy could see that his father was gravely perturbed, yet struggling to retain self-possession; and in a moment the horrible pathos pierced his heart. Algy knew well enough what the end would be, that the Vicar would be useless, and that these attempts on his father's part to gloze over the situation were worse than useless. This violent attempt at kindness was worse than all conceivable fury. He knew perfectly well that anger and bewilderment were dominant below that trembling geniality, and that it was only by the fiercest efforts that they were restrained; and the knowledge of that bewilderment was as a sword for poignancy.

Here, too, was the room where the floggings took place — a room with austere bookshelves, closed by brass gratings never opened, a room furnished with old leather chairs, a couple of kneehold tables never used, and a Turkey carpet. It was just his father to him —a kindly man, honest, sincere, impervious to argument, bound fast in sentiment and convention, convinced that his system of life and thought rested upon irrefutable logic. And this man was his father whom he loved, who had always been good to him; and he had wounded him, and would wound him again far more fiercely.

Algy gave one sob.

His father patted him on the shoulder.

" There, there, old boy. I knew you were a sensible fellow... you must think of your mother and the rest of us... and... and Theo.... Good night, old boy; you'd better be off upstairs. I'll go and see your mother."