Scaife, the more self-possessed, although fully two years the younger, asked the question.
"Forgery."
"Forgery?" Lovell repeated. He was plainly shocked.
"The idiot!" exclaimed Scaife.
"Yes—forgery. Have you anything to say? It is a time when the truth, all the truth, might be accepted as an extenuating circumstance. I speak to you first, Lovell. You're a Sixth Form boy—remember, I have been one myself—and it is your duty to help me."
"I beg pardon, sir," Lovell replied. "I have never considered it my duty as a Sixth Form boy to play the usher."
"Nor did I; but you ought to work on parallel lines with us. You accepted the privileges of the Sixth."
Lovell's flush deepened.
"More," continued Warde, "you know that we, the masters, have implicit trust in the Sixth Form, a trust but seldom betrayed. For instance, I should not think of entering your room without tapping on the door; under ordinary circumstances I should accept your bare word unhesitatingly. I say emphatically that if you, knowing these things, have accepted the privileges of your order with the deliberate intention of ignoring its duties, you have not acted like a man of honour."
"Sir!"