“You made a great noise.” Perrin was speaking very slowly. “You woke me up.”
“Yes; I am most awfully sorry.”
Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined to move.
“You made a great noise. It is one o'clock.” He said it as though he were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution.
“Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key.”
Still Perrin did not move. “What are you doing out so late?” he said at last, slowly.
What the devil had it to do with Perrin!
“I did n't know that this was a girls' school,” Traill said at last, sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he was tired, and in a very bad temper.
Perrin moved from the door. “It's struck one—coming in like this!”
The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall—a huge, gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears.