“I’ve heard Mr. Haigh’s story,” said Heriot very coldly in his study. “Do you wish me to hear yours?”
“No, sir.”
Jan did not wince at Heriot’s tone, but Heriot did at his. The one was to be expected, the other almost brazen in its unblushing alacrity.
“You have nothing whatever to say for yourself, after all these years, after——”
Heriot pulled himself up—as on his haunches—with a jerk of the grizzled head and a fierce flash of the glasses.
“But from all I hear I’m not surprised,” he added with bitter significance. “I find I’ve been mistaken in you all along.”
Yet Jan did not see his meaning at the time, and the bitterness only enabled him to preserve apparent insensibility.
“There’s nothing to say, sir. I was shamming right enough, and I suppose Mr. Haigh has told you why.”
“He has, indeed! The matter has also been reported to the Head Master, and he wishes to see you at once. I need hardly warn you what to expect, I should think.”
“No, sir. I expect to go.”