And lunch being over, Mr. May led his pupil’s father into his study. “I want to show you what your boy has been doing,” he said, pointing to a line of books which made the millionaire’s soul shrink within him. “I have not bothered him with classics; what was the use as he is not going back to Oxford? but I have done my best for him in a practical way. He has read history, largely as you see, and as much as I could give him of political and constitutional—”
“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Copperhead, reading the titles of some of the books under his breath. They impressed him deeply, and took away for a moment his self-confidence. It was his habit to boast that he knew nothing about books; but in their presence he shrank, feeling that they were greater than he, which was, there is little doubt, a sign of grace.
“If you wish to remove Clarence,” said Mr. May, “perhaps I had better make out a scheme of reading for him.”
“Look here,” cried the rich man, “I didn’t want to remove him; but there he is, the first I see of him, cheek for jowl with a good-looking girl. I don’t mean to say a word against Miss May, I’ve no doubt she’s charming; but anyhow there she is side by side with Clar, who is no more able to resist that sort of thing—”
Mr. May laughed, and this time with unmitigated amusement. “Do you mean Ursula? I think I can answer for it that she made no attempts upon him for which resistance would be necessary.”
“That’s all very well to say; but bless you they do it, everyone,” said Mr. Copperhead, “without exception, when a young fellow’s well off and well-looking; and as if one wasn’t bad enough, you’ve got Phoebe Beecham. You won’t tell me she doesn’t mean anything?—up to any mischief, a real minister’s daughter. I don’t mean anything uncivil to you or yours. I suppose a parson’s different; but we know what a minister’s daughter is in our connection. Like the men themselves, in short, who are always pouncing on some girl with a fortune if her relations don’t take care. And Clarence is as weak as a baby; he takes after his mother—a poor bit of a feeble creature, though he’s like me in exterior. That’s how it is, you perceive; I don’t quite see my way to letting him go on.”
“That is of course precisely as you please,” said Mr. May, somewhat sharply. He would preserve his dignity even though his heart was sinking; but he could not keep that tone of sharpness out of his voice.
“Of course it is as I please. I’ll pay up of course for the second three months, if you choose, fair and square. I meant him to stay, and I’ll pay. But that’s all. You’ve no further claim upon me that I know of; and I must say that for a tutor, a regular coach, to keep girls in his house, daughters, or whatever you choose to call them, is something monstrous. It’s a thing no fellow’s friends would put up with. It’s what I call dishonourable.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. May, with all the self-possession he was master of, “you will let your son know at once that he must pack and go. I dare say, Sir Robert can take him, and we will send the portmanteaux. In such a case, it is better there should not be a moment’s delay.”
“Clarence!” cried Mr. Copperhead, walking to the door and opening it. “Come along, look sharp, you’re to go. I’ll take you with me, do you hear? And May will see to sending you your boxes. Quick, come along, there’s no time to lose.”
“Go!” said Clarence, coming in startled, with his eyebrows rising almost into his hair. “Go? What do you mean? Out of the Parsonage? The Governor’s been having too much sherry,” he said, coming close to Mr. May’s arm; he had himself been taking too much of the sherry, for the good reason that nobody had taken any notice of what he did, and that he had foreseen the excitement that was coming. “You don’t mean it, I know,” he added aloud; “I’ll go over for the night if Sir Robert will have me, and see my mother—”
“Ask May,” said Mr. Copperhead, “you’ll believe him, I suppose; he’s as glad to get rid of you as I am to take you away.”
“Is this true?” cried Clarence, roused and wondering, “and if so, what’s happened? I ain’t a baby, you know, to be bundled about from one to another. The Governor forgets that.”
“Your father,” said Mr. May, “chooses to remove you, and that is all I choose to say.”
“But, by George, I can say a deal more,” said Mr. Copperhead. “You simpleton, do you think I am going to leave you here where there’s mantraps about? None of such nonsense for me. Put your things together, I tell you. Phoebe Beecham’s bad enough at home; but if she thinks she’s to have you here to pluck at her leisure, she and her friends—”
“W—hew!” said Clarence, with a long whistle. “So that’s it. I am very sorry, father, if these are your sentiments; but I may as well tell you at once I shan’t
