CHAPTER XXII

For three weeks Richard had to remain in town and endure the teachings of the System in a new atmosphere.  He had to sit and listen to men of science who came to renew their intimacy with his father, and whom of all men his father wished him to respect and study; practically scientific men being, in the baronet’s estimation, the only minds thoroughly mated and enviable.  He had to endure an introduction to the Grandisons, and meet the eyes of his kind, haunted as he was by the Foolish Young Fellow.  The idea that he might by any chance be identified with him held the poor youth in silent subjection.  And it was horrible.  For it was a continued outrage on the fair image he had in his heart.  The notion of the world laughing at him because he loved sweet Lucy stung him to momentary frenzies, and developed premature misanthropy in his spirit.  Also the System desired to show him whither young women of the parish lead us, and he was dragged about at nighttime to see the sons and daughters of darkness, after the fashion prescribed to Mr. Thompson; how they danced and ogled down the high road to perdition.  But from this sight possibly the teacher learnt more than his pupil, since we find him seriously asking his meditative hours, in the Note-book:  “Wherefore Wild Oats are only of one gender?” a question certainly not suggested to him at Raynham; and again—­“Whether men might not be attaching too rigid an importance?"...to a subject with a dotted tail apparently, for he gives it no other in the Note-book.  But, as I apprehend, he had come to plead in behalf of women here, and had deduced something from positive observation.  To Richard the scenes he witnessed were strange wild pictures, likely if anything to have increased his misanthropy, but for his love.

Certain sweet little notes from Lucy sustained the lover during the first two weeks of exile.  They ceased; and now Richard fell into such despondency that his father in alarm had to take measures to hasten their return to Raynham.  At the close of the third week Berry laid a pair of letters, bearing the Raynham post-mark, on the breakfast-table, and, after reading one attentively, the baronet asked his son if he was inclined to quit the metropolis.

“For Raynham, air?” cried Richard, and relapsed, saying, “As you will!” aware that he had given a glimpse of the Foolish Young Fellow.

Berry accordingly received orders to make arrangements for their instant return to Raynham.

The letter Sir Austin lifted his head from to bespeak his son’s wishes was a composition of the wise youth Adrian’s, and ran thus: 

“Benson is doggedly recovering.  He requires great indemnities.  Happy when a faithful fool is the main sufferer in a household!  I quite agree with you that our faithful fool is the best servant of great schemes.  Benson is now a piece of history.  I tell him that this is indemnity enough, and that the sweet Muse usually insists upon gentlemen being half-flayed before she will condescend to notice them; but Benson, I regret to say, rejects the comfort so fine a reflection should offer, and had rather keep his skin and live opaque.  Heroism seems partly a matter of training.  Faithful folly is Benson’s nature:  the rest has been thrust upon.