I stopped.
“Why what?” said father.
“Why he’s so hard up, father, dear. He is, you know. It’s because of his twenty-first birthday, he said.”
“I shouldn’t wonder, my dear. I Remember my own twenty-first birthday celebrations, and I don’t suppose things have altered much since my time. You must tell Bob to come to me if he is in difficulties. We mustn’t be hard on a man who’s playing in the ‘Varsity match, eh, my dear?”
I said, “No; I’ll tell him.”
Bob stopped with us the night before the match. He hardly ate anything for dinner, and he wanted toast instead of bread. When I met him afterwards, though, he was looking very pleased with things and very friendly.
“It’s all right about those bills,” he said. “The governor has given me a cheque. He’s awfully bucked about my Blue.”
“And it was all me, Bob,” I cried. “It was every bit me. If it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t be playing to-morrow. Aren’t you grateful, Bob? You ought to be.”
“If you can spare a moment and aren’t too busy talking rot,” said Bob, “you might tell me what it’s all about.”
“Why, it was through me you’ve got your Blue.”
“So I understand you to say. Mind explaining? Don’t, if it would give you a headache.”
“Why, I met the Oxford captain at Aunt Edith’s dance, and I said how anxious you were to get your Blue, and I begged him to put you in the team. And the very next Saturday you were tried for the first time.”
Bob positively reeled, and would have fallen had he not clutched a chair. I didn’t know people ever did it out of novels. He looked horrible. His mouth was wide open and his face a sort of pale green. He bleated like a sheep.
“Bob, don’t!” I said. “Whatever’s the matter?
He recovered himself and laughed feebly. “All right, Kid,” he said, “that’s one to you. You certainly drew me then. By gad! I really thought you meant it at first.”
My eyes opened wide. “But, Bob,” I said, “I did.”
His jaw fell again.
You mean to tell me,” he said slowly, “that you actually asked — Oh, my aunt!”
He leaned his forehead on the mantelpiece. “I can’t stay up after this. Good Lord! the story may be all over the ‘Varsity! Suppose somebody did get hold of it! I couldn’t live it down.”
He raised his head. “Look here, Joan,” he said; “if a single soul gets to hear of this I’ll never speak to you again.” And he stalked out of the room.
I sat down and cried.
He would hardly speak a word to me next morning. Father insisted on his having breakfast in bed, so as not to let him get tired; so I did not see him till lunch. After lunch we all drove off to Queen’s Club in Aunt Edith’s motor. While Bob was upstairs packing his bag, father said to me, “Here’s an honour for us, Joan. Bob is bringing the Oxford captain back to dinner to-night.”
I gasped. I felt it would take all my womanly tact to see me through the interview. He wouldn’t know how offended Bob was at being put in the team, and he might refer to our conversation at the dance.
Bob was evidently still wrapped in gloomy despair when he joined us. He was so silent in the motor that father thought he must be dreadfully nervous about the match, and tried to cheer him up, which made him worse. We arrived at the ground at last, and Bob went to the pavilion to change.
We sat just behind two young men whose whole appearance literally shrieked the word “Fresher”! When I thought that Bob had been just like that a year before and that he was really quite different now, I felt so proud of my efforts to improve him that I was quite consoled for the moment. I was in a gentle reverie when father nudged me, and I woke up to find that the two young men were discussing Bob. “Yes, that’s all very well,” one of them was saying, the one in the brighter brown suit, “but my point is that he’s too selfish. He doesn’t feed his forwards enough.”