“I am very sorry,” Traill began; the paper crackling beneath his fingers.
Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white.
“I'm very sorry,” said Traill again, “but I'm afraid I must have taken it—my mistake. I wouldn't have taken it if I had dreamed—”
“You!” said Perrin in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes,” said Traill, “I'm afraid I took the first one I saw this morning. I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours is missing. I assure you—”
He was smiling a little—really it was all too absurd. His smile drove Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward.
“You dared to take my umbrella?” he said, “without asking? I never heard such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of a piece—all of a piece!”
“But it's really too absurd,” Traill broke in. “As though a man mightn't take another man's umbrella without all this disturbance. It's too absurd.”
“Oh! is it?” said Perrin, his voice shaking. “That's all of a piece—that's exactly like the rest of your behavior here. You come here thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. Oh, yes! we've all got to bow down to everything that your Highness chooses to say. We must give up everything to your Highness—our clothes, our possessions—you conceited—insufferable puppy!”
These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself with rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had been against him at every turn.