‘Who was talking about suicide, just now? I thought I caught a word or two of nonsensical threats, as I was nearing the door. If I thought daughters of mine——’
‘Oh, darling mother, don’t go on! I know what you are going to say,’ entreated the penitent girl; ‘it was only my nonsense. Why, Eric said the other day that two of the men in the Oxford crew had resolved in the case of defeat to study for the Church and go in for slum curacies.’
‘I never doubted that young men as well as young women could talk nonsense,’ conceded Mrs. Arnold, with benevolent candour; ‘but in the meantime suppose we wait a little longer before we go into heroics about the weather, which we cannot alter or defy.’
‘I second the motion,’ said Mr. Banneret, who at that moment entered the room with the _Times_ in his hand. ‘I don’t like to hear the question of the weather discussed flippantly. It is too serious a subject. I have known more than one case where a poor fellow committed suicide because it _didn’t rain_. It meant ruin to him: the loss of twenty years’ work and self-denial. So there was some sort of excuse. But complaints and cheap wit about so grave a subject are out of place. I believe that the day will be fine after all. We shall see.’
‘Then I will promise and vow to be good for a month,’ said Hermione. ‘Vanda will not compare old and new countries in mixed society; Reggie will not wear his superior English manner; and Eric will read steadily for his degree, even if he has to be an Australian squatter.’
‘I suppose I ought to take one for the credit of my native land,’ said Eric, ‘but I am going to be a colonist whatever happens. I’ve no notion of loafing about in England. There are too many of that sort here already. There’s a trying season coming, unless I mistake the signs of the times—industrial warfare as well as the other thing. And I mean to be in the thick of it.’
‘And so will I,’ said Reggie, ‘as soon as I get my double first. I’m going in for Australian politics.’
‘What good will it be to you out there?’ said Eric.
‘That’s my business, but I can’t think that an all-round University training can unfit a man for any career, at home or abroad. There may be a temporary prejudice; but if a man shapes his course sensibly, he is bound to be of more weight, even in a democratic assembly, with such an addition to his intelligence, than without. Look at William Charles Wentworth—Dalley—John Lang, and others. The two first were the darlings of the people (Dalley an Imperial Privy Councillor), and always exercised immense political power. Lang was acknowledged to be a brilliant linguist and successful barrister in India. Sir James Martin, too, though without University training, was a man of such phenomenal and comprehensive intellect, that he was independent of it. He filled the highest political and legal positions with unexampled success. His last act as Chief Justice of New South Wales proved, strange to say, posthumously successful. An important and complicated mining case was heard before the Full Court, composed of Sir James and two Judges, during his last illness. It was given in favour of the complainants by a majority of the Justices, Sir James dissenting. He left his reasons, stated in writing. The defendants appealed to the Privy Council. Some delay occurred. In the meantime Sir James, who had been for some time ailing, died. The decision of the Privy Council came out shortly after. It was in favour of the appellants, thus upholding, even from the grave, the soundness of the dead Judge’s opinion and legal knowledge.’