The gibe acted differently on Paul. He recalled that Stanley had really suffered for him; he recalled too, the note of warning that had been left for him in his dormitory. Perhaps, after all, it had been written by Stanley? The Stanley he had once known as a friend. And there came over him the old longing to clasp him by the hand.
"I will try to explain to you if you will meet me somewhere alone," he said, drawing near to Stanley, and speaking in a little more than a whisper.
"Speak out! I want no secrets!" cried Stanley.
"All the fellows in the Form have as much right to hear as I have! What I can hear they can hear! I don't want to go about sneaking and whispering in corners!"
Murmurs of applause greeted this expression of opinion.
"If that's the way you look at it," answered Paul sorrowfully, "the thing's ended. I've nothing more to say."
"But I have, and you must hear—must!" repeated Stanley, with emphasis, as Paul tried to pass him. "It's your honour I'm thinking of, as much as the honour of the school. Do you know what they are saying?"
"I don't know or care," came the swift answer. "As for my honour, it can very well take care of itself."
"Like it did at the sand-pits," put in Parfitt, amid an outburst of laughter.
Paul bit his lip to keep back the angry words that sprang to his tongue. And the gibe went again as a poisoned shaft to the wound that was lying as a canker in the breast of Stanley.