or offensive to any of the Fellows. Finally, he came of a very distinguished family; and Mr. Mackintosh had the keenest remembrance still of his own single interview, three years ago, with the Earl of Talgarth.
Mr. Mackintosh wondered, then, exactly what he would have to say to Mr. Guiseley, and what Mr. Guiseley would have to say to him. He thought, if the young man were really going down for good, as he had understood this morning, it was only his plain duty to say a few tactful words about responsibility and steadiness. That ridiculous auction would serve as his text.
Mr. Mackintosh paused an instant, as he always did, before saying "Come in!" to the knock on the door (I think he thought it helped to create a little impression of importance). Then he said it; and Frank walked in.
"Good evening, Mr. Guiseley. … Yes; please sit down. I understood from you this morning that you wished for your exeat."
"Please," said Frank.
"Just so," said Mr. Mackintosh, drawing the exeat book—resembling the butt of a check-book—towards him. "And you are going down to-morrow?"
"Yes," said Frank.
"Going home?" murmured the Dean, inscribing Frank's name in his neat little handwriting.
"No," said Frank.
"Not? … To London, perhaps?"
"Well, not exactly," said Frank; "at least, not just yet."
Mr. Mackintosh blotted the book carefully, and extracted the exeat. He pushed it gently towards Frank.
"About that auction!" he said, smiling indulgently; "I did want to have a word with you about that. It was very unusual; and I wondered. … But I am happy to think that there was no disturbance. … But can you tell me exactly why you chose that form of … of … "
"I wanted to make as much money as ever I could," said Frank.
"Indeed! … Yes. … And … and you were successful?"
"I cleared all my debts, anyhow," said Frank serenely. "I thought that very important."
Mr. Mackintosh smiled again. Certainly this young man was very well behaved and deferential.
"Well, that's satisfactory. And you are going to read at the Bar now? If you will let me say so, Mr. Guiseley, even at this late hour, I must say that I think that a Third Class might have been bettered. But no doubt your tutor has said all that?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Well, then, a little more application and energy now may perhaps make up for lost time. I suppose you will go to the Temple in October?"
Frank looked at him pensively a moment.
"No, Mr. Mackintosh," he said suddenly; "I'm going on the roads. I mean it, quite seriously. My father's disowned me. I'm starting out to-morrow to make my own living."
There was dead silence for an instant. The Dean's face was stricken, as though by horror. Yet Frank saw he had not in the least taken it in.
"Yes; that's really so," he said. "Please don't argue with me about it. I'm perfectly determined."
"Your father … Lord Talgarth … the roads … your own living … the college authorities … responsibility!"
Words of this sort burst from Mr. Mackintosh's mouth.
"Yes … it's because I've become a Catholic! I expect you've heard that, sir."
Mr. Mackintosh threw himself back (if so fierce a word may be used of so mild a manner)—threw himself back in his chair.
"Mr. Guiseley, kindly tell me all about it. I had not heard one word—not one word."
Frank made a great effort, and told the story, quite fairly and quite politely. He described his convictions as well as he could, the various steps he had taken, and the climax of the letter from his father. Then he braced himself, to hear what would be said; or, rather, he retired within himself, and, so to speak, shut the door and pulled down the blinds.
It was all said exactly as he knew it would be. Mr. Mackintosh touched upon a loving father's impatience, the son's youth and impetuosity, the shock to an ancient family, the responsibilities of membership in that family, the dangers of rash decisions, and, finally, the obvious errors of the Church of Rome. He began several sentences with the phrase: "No thinking man at the present day … "
In fact, Mr. Mackintosh was, so soon as he had recovered from the first shock, extraordinarily sensible and reasonable. He said all the proper things, all the sensible and reasonable and common-sense things, and he said them, not offensively or contemptuously, but tactfully and persuasively. And he put into it the whole of his personality, such as it was. He even quoted St. Paul.
He perspired a little, gently, towards the end: so he took off his glasses and wiped them, looking, still with a smile, through kind, short-sighted eyes, at this young man who sat so still. For Frank was so quiet that the Dean thought him already half persuaded. Then once more he summed up, when his glasses were fixed again; he ran through his arguments lightly and efficiently, and ended by a quiet little assumption that Frank was going to be reasonable, to write to his father once more, and to wait at least a week. He even called him "my dear boy!"
"Thanks very much," said Frank.
"Then you'll think it over quietly, my dear boy. Come and talk to me again. I've given you your exeat, but you needn't use it. Come in to-morrow evening after hall."
Frank stood up.
"Thanks, very much, Mr. Mackintosh. I'll … I'll certainly remember what you've said." He took up his exeat as if mechanically.
"Then you can leave that for the present," smiled the Dean, pointing at it. "I can write you another, you know."
Frank put it down quickly.
"Oh, certainly!" he said.
"Well, good-night, Mr. Guiseley. … I … I can't tell you how glad I am that you confided in me. Young men are a little unwise and impetuous sometimes, you know. Good-night … good-night. I shall expect you to-morrow."
When Frank reached the court below he stood waiting a moment. Then a large smile broke out on his face, and he hurried across to a passage opposite, found a friend's door open, and rushed in. The room was empty. He flew across to the window and crouched down, peeping over the sill at the opening on the other side of the court leading to Mr. Mackintosh's staircase.
He was rewarded almost instantly. Even as he settled himself on the window seat a black figure, with gown ballooning behind, hurried out and whisked through the archway leading towards the street. He gave him twenty seconds, and then ran out himself, and went in pursuit. Half-way up the lane he sighted him once more, and, following cautiously on tiptoe, with a handkerchief up to his face, was in time to behold Mr. Mackintosh disappear into the little telegraph office on the left of Trinity Street.
"That settles it, then," observed Frank, almost aloud. "Poor Jack—I'm afraid I shan't be able to breakfast with him after all!"
(IV)
