Terence only was with him in his study when Toby knocked quietly at the door, just before dinner-time, and came in, and Rouse got up stiffly and stood at the table watching him as he entered, palpably afraid to hope for any better news.
“Is it true, sir?” said he at last. “Did he mean it?”
Toby rested his hands cheerfully upon his hips.
“It’s true, yes; but after all, term’s nearly over. It’s not so very awful.”
Rouse drew away.
“But it’s my fault. That’s the trouble. The Head told me so. He got at me.” He paused. There was silence for a moment. Then he said again: “He got at me.”
“How?”
“Somehow he’d come to know that the fellows had planned to share the blame. He said I was afraid to take it on my own shoulders. He said it was my personal vanity that the school would have to suffer for now. Because I was too conceited——”
Toby stopped him.
“He didn’t tell me that. He said that I was clearly too recently a schoolboy to carry proper weight with the fellows here now. His idea was that it would do me a great deal of good to go to another school for a while and gain experience in handling youngsters, and then in a year or so’s time perhaps come back here, with a heavier manner about me, and try again. He considers that half the trouble here this term has been because I have not exercised proper influence with you chaps. He is prepared to recommend me to a post at another school. But to strengthen his own position here, he wants me to go this week and not to wait till the end of the term. That’s all.”