Unconscious of the mistake he had made, Ferrers felt exceedingly uncomfortable in his present position, and, assuming an air of contemptuous indignation, he turned his back on Reginald, saying as he did so, “Such impertinence merits nothing but silent contempt.”
“You did it, you coward!” cried Reginald, enraged almost beyond control. “I know you did, and you know you did. Will you answer me?”
“Answer him, Ferrers, answer him at once, and let us have an end of his impertinence,” cried several voices: “he's like a wild-cat.”
“Well then, I did not,” said Ferrers, turning round with a violent effort; “will that satisfy you?”
Reginald glared angrily and doubtfully on the changing countenance of the speaker, and then burst out vehemently,
“I don't believe a word you say: you did it either to spite him, or you mistook your aim. Do you never use keys, Mr. Ferrers?”
“Really, Mortimer!” exclaimed Trevannion, “your language is very intemperate and ungentlemanly. I have no doubt your brother knows how to help himself; and now, for your comfort, know that I saw him the other day with that same book, and here is Hamilton, who can corroborate my statement.”
“Where? when?” asked Reginald, in a subdued tone.
“In the class-room alone, when he was writing his exercise. Hamilton, am I not right?”
Hamilton nodded.