But about the middle of the term John noticed that Fluff was losing colour and spirits, the latter never very exuberant. It was not in John's nature to ask questions which he might answer for himself by taking pains to do so. He watched Fluff closely. Then he demanded bluntly—
"What's up?"
"Nothing."
"That's a cram," said John, severely. "I didn't believe you'd tell me a cram, Esmé."
"You don't care tuppence whether I tell crams or not—now."
John weighed the "now" deliberately.
"That's another cram," he said slowly. "Has anybody been rotting you?"
Silence. John repeated the question. Still silence. Then John added—
"You know, Esmé, that I shall stick to you till I find out what's up; so you may as well save time by telling me at once."
"It's Beaumont-Greene," faltered Fluff.