It was very awkward though when Anderson ran up to him in the cloisters with "Hullo, Whately, going out for a stroll; well, just wait half-a-sec. while I fetch my hat." Roland had an infernal job getting rid of him.
"But, my dear man," Anderson had protested, "where on earth are you going? I've always thought you the piest man in the house. But if it's a smoke I'll watch you and if it's a drink I'll help you."
"Oh no, it's not that. I'm going out with a man in Morgan's."
Anderson's mouth emitted a long whistle of surprise.
"So our Whately has deserted his old friends? Ah, well, when one gets into the XV., I know."
Roland could see that Anderson was offended.
But it was even worse when he came back to find his study full of seven indignant sportsmen wanting to know why on earth he had taken to going out for walks with "a dirty tick in Morgan's, who was no use at anything and didn't even wash."
"He's quite a decent chap," said Roland weakly. "I met him in the san."
"I dare say you did," said Anderson; "we're not blaming you for that. You couldn't help it. But those sorts of things, one does try to live down."