Lovell went to the door and opened it.
"Bo-o-o-o-o-o-y!"
The familiar cry—that imperious call which makes an Harrovian feel himself master of more or less willing slaves—echoed through the house. Immediately the night-fag came running; it was not considered healthy to keep Lovell waiting.
"Ask Beaumont-Greene to come up here and——" He paused. Warde had just turned the corner, and was approaching. Lovell hesitated. Then he repeated what he had just said, with a slight variation for Warde's benefit. "Tell him I want to ask him a question about the house-subscriptions."
"Right," said the fag, bustling off.
Lovell waited to receive his house-master. He had very good manners.
"Can I do anything for you, sir?" he asked.
"Yes," said Warde, deliberately. He entered Lovell's room and looked at Scaife, who rose at once.
"I wish to speak with you alone, Lovell."
"Certainly, sir. Won't you sit down?"