Part 23 (2/2)
As I reached the station, the 10.15 was just coming in. I cast a wild glance right and left, and saw at least a dozen undergraduates, without cap or gown, loitering on the platform in obvious disregard of university law. But I felt far too guilty to proctorize them, and I was terribly conscious that all their eyes were fixed upon me, as I moved up and down the carriages looking for my American friend. She caught my eye in a moment, peering out of a second-cla.s.s window--she had told me that she was not well off--and I thought I should have sunk in the ground when she jumped lightly out, seized my hand warmly, and cried out quite audibly, in her pretty faintly American voice, ”My dear Mr. Payne, I am so glad you've come to meet me. Will you see after my baggage--no, luggage you call it in England, don't you?--and get it sent up to the Randolph, please, at once?”
Was ever Proctor so tried on this earth? But I made an effort to smile it off. ”My sister is so sorry she could not come to meet you, Miss Van Rensselaer,” I said in my loudest voice, for I saw all those twelve sinister undergraduates watching afar off with eager curiosity; ”but she has sent me down to carry you off in her stead, and she begs you won't think of going to the Randolph, but will come and make her house your home as long as you stay in Oxford.” I flattered myself that the twelve odious young men, who were now forming a sort of irregular circle around us, would be completely crushed by that masterly stroke: though what on earth Annie would say at being saddled with this Yankee girl for a week I hardly dared to fancy. For Annie was a Professor's wife: and the dignity of a Professor's wife is almost as serious a matter as that of a Senior Proctor himself.
Imagine my horror, then, when Ida answered, with her frank smile and sunny voice, ”Your sister! I didn't know you had a sister. And anyhow, I haven't come to see your sister, but yourself. And I'd better go to the Randolph straight, I'm sure, because I shall feel more at home there.
You can come round and see me whenever you like, there; and I mean you to show me all Oxford, now I've come here, that's certain.”
I glanced furtively at the open-eared undergraduates, and felt that the game was really up. I could never face them again. I must resign everything, take orders, and fly to a country rectory. At least, I thought so on the spur of the moment.
But something must clearly be done. I couldn't stand and argue out the case with Ida before those twelve young fiends, now reinforced by a group of porters; and I determined to act strategically--that is to say, tell a white lie. ”You can go to the Randolph, of course, if you wish, Miss Van Rensselaer,” I said; ”will you come and show me which is your luggage? Here, you, sir,” to one of the porters,--a little angrily, I fear,--”come and get this lady's boxes, will you?”
In a minute I had secured the boxes, and went out for a cab. There was nothing left but a single hansom. Demoralized as I was, I took it, and put Ida inside. ”Drive to Lechlade Villa, the Parks,” I whispered to the cabby--that was Annie's address--and I jumped in beside my torturer. As we drove up by the Corn-market, I could see the porters and scouts of Balliol and John's all looking eagerly out at the unwonted sight of a Senior Proctor in full academicals, driving through the streets of Oxford in a hansom cab, with a lady by his side. As for Ida, she remained happily unconscious, though I blamed her none the less for it.
In her native wilds I knew that such vagaries were permitted by the rules of society; but she ought surely to have known that in Europe they were not admissible.
”Now, Miss Van Rensselaer,” I said as we turned the corner of Carfax, ”I am taking you to my sister's. Excuse my frankness if I tell you that, according to English, and especially to Oxford etiquette, it would never do for you to go to an hotel. People's sense of decorum would be scandalized if they learnt that a lady had come alone to visit the Senior Proctor, and was stopping at the Randolph. Don't you see yourself how very odd it looks?”
”Well, no,” said Ida promptly; ”I think you are a dreadfully suspicious people: you seem always to credit everybody with the worst motives. In America, we think people mean no harm, and don't look after them so sharply as you do. But I really can't go to your sister's. I don't know her, and I haven't been invited. Does she know I'm coming?”
”Well, I can't say she does,” I answered hesitatingly. ”You see, your letter only reached me half an hour ago, and I had no time to see her before I went to meet you.”
”Then I certainly won't go, Mr. Payne, that's certain.”
”But my dear Miss Van Rensselaer----”
”Not the slightest use, I a.s.sure you. I _can't_ go to a house where they don't even know I'm coming. Driver, will you go to the Randolph Hotel, please?”
I sank back paralyzed and unmanned. This girl was one too many for me.
”Miss Van Rensselaer,” I cried, in a last despairing fit, ”do you know that as Senior Proctor of the University I have the power to order you away from Oxford; and that if I told them at the Randolph not to take you in, they wouldn't dare to do it?”
”Well really, Mr. Payne, I dare say you have some extraordinary mediaeval customs here, but you can hardly mean to send me away again by main force. I shall go to the Randolph.”
And she went. I had to draw up solemnly at the door, to accompany her to the office, and to see her safely provided with a couple of rooms before I could get away hastily to the Ancient House of Convocation, where public business was being delayed by my absence. As I hurried through the Schools Quadrangle, I felt like a convicted malefactor going to face his judges, and self-condemned by his very face.
That afternoon, as soon as I had gulped down a choking lunch, I bolted down to the Parks and saw Annie. At first I thought it was a hopeless task to convince her that Ida Van Rensselaer's conduct was, from an American point of view, nothing extraordinary. She persisted in declaring that such goings-on were not respectable, and that I was bound, as an officer of the University, to remove the young woman at once from the eight-mile radius over which my jurisdiction extended. I pleaded in vain that ladies in America always travelled alone, and that n.o.body thought anything of it. Annie pertinently remarked that that would be excellent logic in New York, but that it was quite un-Aristotelian in Oxford. ”When your American friends come to Rome,”
she said coldly--as though I were in the habit of importing Yankee girls wholesale--”they must do as Rome does.” But when I at last pointed out that Ida, as an American citizen, could appeal to her minister if I attempted to turn her out, and that we might find ourselves the centre of an international quarrel--possibly even a _casus belli_--she finally yielded with a struggle. ”For the sake of respectability,” she said solemnly, ”I'll go and call on this girl with you; but remember, Cyril, I shall never undertake to help you out of such a disgraceful sc.r.a.pe a second time.” I sneaked out into the garden to wait for her, and felt that the burden of a Proctors.h.i.+p was really more than I could endure.
We called duly upon Ida, that very hour, and Ida certainly behaved herself remarkably well. She was so charmingly frank and pretty, she apologized so simply to Annie for her ignorance of English etiquette, and she was so obviously guileless and innocent-hearted in all her talk, that even Annie herself--who is, I must confess, a typical don's wife--was gradually mollified. To my great surprise, Annie even asked her to dinner _en famille_ the same evening, and suggested that I should make an arrangement with the Junior Proctor to take my work, and join the party. I consented, not without serious misgivings; but I felt that if Ida was really going to stop a week, it would be well to put the best face upon it, and to show her up in company with Annie as often as possible. That might just conceivably take the edge off the keen blade of University scandal.
To cut a long story short, Ida did stop her week, and I got through it very creditably after all. Annie behaved like a brick, as soon as the first chill was over; for though she is married to a professor of dry bones (Comparative Osteology sounds very well, but means no more than that, when you come to think of it), she is a woman at heart in spite of it all. Ida had the most winning, charming, confiding manner; and she was so pleased with Oxford, with the colleges, the libraries, the gardens, the river, the boats, the mediaeval air, the whole place, that she quite gained Annie over to her side. Nay, my sister even discovered incidentally that Ida had a little fortune of her own, amounting to some 300 a year, which, though it doesn't count for much in America, would be a neat little sum to a man like myself, in England; and she shrewdly observed, in her sensible business-like manner, that it would quite make up for the possible loss of my Magdalen fellows.h.i.+p. I am not exactly what you call a marrying man--at least, I know I had never got married before; but as the week wore on, and I continued boating, flirting, and acting showman to Ida, Annie of course always a.s.sisting for propriety's sake, I began to feel that the Proctor was being conquered by the man. I fell most seriously and undoubtedly in love. Ida admired my rooms, was charmed with the pretty view from my windows over Magdalen Bridge and the beautiful gardens, and criticized my Botticelli with real sympathy.
I was interested in her; she was so fresh, so real, and so genuinely delighted with the new world which opened before her. It was almost her first glimpse of the true interior Europe, and she was fascinated with it, as all better American minds invariably are when they feel the charm of its contrast with their own hurrying, bustling, mushroom world. The week pa.s.sed easily and pleasantly enough; and when it was drawing to an end, I had half made up my mind to propose to Ida Van Rensselaer.
The day before she was to leave she told us she would not go out in the afternoon; so I determined to stroll down the river to Iffley by myself in a ”tub dingey”--a small boat with room in it for two, if occasion demands. When I reached the Iffley Lock, imagine my horror at seeing Ida in the middle of the stream, quietly engaged in paddling herself down the river in a canoe. I ran my dingey close beside her, drove her remorselessly against the bank, and handed her out on to the meadow, before she could imagine what I was driving at.
”Now, Miss Van Rensselaer,” I said sternly, ”this will never do. By herculean efforts Annie and I have got over this week without serious scandal; and at the last moment you endeavour to wreck our plans by canoeing down the open river by yourself before the eyes of the whole University. Everybody will talk about the Senior Proctor's visitor having been seen indecorously paddling about in broad daylight in a boat of her own.”
”I didn't know there was any harm in it,” said Ida penitently; for she was beginning to understand the real seriousness of University etiquette.
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