The pitiful, appealing face turned up to him mastered Glyn on the instant, and he loosened his hold, to glance round directly in the direction of Morris, and then back.
“Get up,” he said, “and don’t do that. Come along here.”
“No, no; I can’t go before the Doctor. Severn, you always were a good fellow—a better chap than I am. Pray, pray, forgive me this once!”
“And you will never do so any more?” cried Glyn half-mockingly.
“Never! never! I swear I won’t!”
“Well,” said Glyn, whose rage seemed to have entirely evaporated, “I suppose that it would pretty well ruin you, at all events for this school. I don’t want to be hard on you; but I can’t help half-hating you, Slegge, for the way you have behaved to that poor little beggar Burton. Look here, Slegge, if you say honestly that you beg pardon—”
“Yes,” cried the lad. “I do beg your pardon, Severn!”
“No; I don’t want you to beg my pardon,” cried Glyn. “I can take care of myself. I want you to tell that poor little chap that you are sorry you ill-used him, and promise that you will never behave badly to him again.”
“Yes, yes. I will, I will. But you are going to tell the Doctor?”
“No, I shall not. I am not a sneak,” said Glyn, “nor a coward neither. I have shown you that, and I am not going to jump on a fellow when he’s down. But come along here.”