"Now, sir," began Paul, with dignity, when he had closed the glass door behind him, "perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me how you mean to prevent me from seeing Dr. Grimstone, and telling him—telling him what I have to tell him?"
"I'll tell you, Dickie," said Chawner, with an evil smirk. "You shall know soon enough."
"Don't stand grinning at me like that, sir," said the angry Mr. Bultitude; "say it out at once; it will make no difference to me, I give you warning!"
"Oh, yes it will, though. I think it will. Wait. I heard all you said to Grimstone in the study to-day about that girl—Connie Davenant, you know."
"I don't care; I am innocent. I have nothing to reproach myself with."
"What a liar you are!" said Chawner, more in admiration than rebuke. "You told him you never gave her any encouragement, didn't you? And he said if he ever found you had, nothing could save you from a licking, didn't he?"
"He did," said Paul, "he was quite right from his point of view—what then?"
"Why, this," said Chawner: "Do you remember giving Jolland, the last Sunday of last term, a note for that very girl?"
"I never did!" said poor Mr. Bultitude, "I never saw the wretched girl before."