Aspinall considered a full minute.
"On the whole, I think I should—at least, for one term; but I'd most certainly let him know why he was not to have his cap—privately, of course. I should not like it to get about, and I do not fancy Acton will say much about it."
That night Bourne and I crossed over to Biffen's, and waylaid Acton in his den. I'm pretty sure there wasn't another room like his in the whole school. No end of swell pictures—foreign mostly; lovely little books, which, I believe, were foreign also; an etching of his own place up in Yorkshire; carpets, and rugs, and little statuettes—swagger through and through; a little too much so, I believe, for the rules, but Biffen evidently had not put his foot down. Acton was standing on the hearthrug with his back to the fire, and on seeing us he politely offered us chairs with the air of a gentleman and a something of grace, which was a trifle foreign.
I saw that Acton's polite cordiality nettled Bourne more than a little, but he solemnly took a chair, and in his blunt, downright fashion, plunged headlong into the business.
"Only came to say a word or two, Acton, about Thursday's match."
"A very good one," he remarked, with what Corker calls "detached interest." "Aspinall's accident was more than unfortunate."
"The fact is," said Bourne, bluntly, "neither Carr nor I believe it was an accident."
"No? What was it, then? Every one else thought it was, though."
"We know better. We know that you deliberately fouled him, and——"
Acton paled, and his eyes glittered viciously, though he said calmly, "That is a lie."