“I hope he enjoyed himself, then,” answered Louis, as he slipped down from the rail.
“I don’t know as I much care if he did hear,” said Max deliberately. “I don’t want to be ugly and hurt his feelings, any more than Hal does; but now honestly, if he knew just what we thought of him, perhaps he’d try to treat us a little more decently.”
But how well he did know just what they thought of him! Sitting by the open window, in the yellow sunset light, Mr. Boniface had been quite absorbed in his work until the repeated use of his unpleasant nickname had roused him from his book, and forced him to listen. It was only for a few moments that he had sat there; but it was long enough to hear Harry’s attempted defence and final confession to sharing in the general dislike, to writhe under the jests of Max and to note the contempt in the tone of all the boys. Then he closed the window; but it was too late, for the winged words, sharp as arrows, had already flown in and struck home, touching just the points where he knew himself weakest. And with all their teasing, they were sorry for him; that was the worst of it all. He could bear their dislike, but not their half-scornful pity, as to an inferior. Just because their lives had been spent in luxury, should they despise him on account of his struggle with poverty? The thought galled him, and with his arms folded tightly in front of him and his head bowed, he paced angrily up and down the room.
Irving Wilde found him so, when he knocked at his door, half an hour later, to return a borrowed book. As he heard the nervous steps, he paused for a moment to listen. Then he rapped with decision.
“Come in,” said an unwelcoming voice.
“I just came to bring back your book,” said Lieutenant Wilde, looking with some surprise on the flushed face and angry eyes of his host, who stood facing him, without making the slightest movement towards receiving the book. “I am afraid I am intruding,” he went on.
“No,” the other man replied briefly; “I’m not busy.”
Irving Wilde felt a little perplexed. It was evident that Mr. Boniface was in some trouble, but his rather hostile manner made it difficult to offer any sympathy. The lieutenant put the book down on the table and turned to go away.
“Sit down,” said the other abruptly.
It was more a command than an invitation, and Lieutenant Wilde meekly obeyed, wondering what was to follow.