Stanley's head had fallen to his breast as Leveson read that bitter paragraph from the Record. He looked up quickly as Paul entered the room. For the moment it seemed as though he would speak; then he bit his lips fiercely to keep back the words that sprang to them, and went from the room. Newall followed him, then Arbery. One by one they followed his example—Third Form boys as well as Fifth—until one only remained—Waterman, who had been comfortably resting in a chair by the fire throughout the scene described in the last chapter. As the last boy went out, he glanced up.
"Hallo, Percival! Is that you?"
"Why don't you do the same as the rest of the fellows, and clear out?" asked Paul bitterly.
"I'm quite comfortable where I am, thank you."
And Waterman stretched out his legs, and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. Paul could see that it was not altogether a question of comfort with Waterman. His laziness was only a cloak to disguise a real feeling of friendship towards him.
"The fellows were discussing me as I came in?"
"I don't quite know what they were discussing. Oh, young Plunger had made himself an ass, as usual, over some paragraph in the Record. That was it."
Leveson had screwed up the paper, it will be remembered, when he had read the paragraph about the honour of the Fifth, and, as Paul entered, had flung it contemptuously from him into a corner of the room. Paul's eye went to it as Waterman was speaking.
"Paragraph in the Record," he repeated, as he smoothed it out. "What have they got to say about Plunger?"
He quickly read the paragraphs which had reference to Plunger, and then he read the one which he knew well enough had reference to himself. Waterman rose from his chair as the paper dropped from Paul's hand and placed a hand on his shoulder.