Grey, who was at heart a well-meaning lad, lost his temper likewise, the accusation being unjust. The Head, in reality, had discovered Rupert's disobedience, for himself.
"Sneak yourself!" retorted Grey. "I didn't split on you."
"I wouldn't tell a story about it, if I were you," sneered Rupert. "I'd keep a little rag of honour."
"Before you crow so loudly about honour, I think you'd better look at home."
"What do you mean?" cried Rupert hotly.
"I mean this," continued Grey, red with anger; "ask your sister Gertie who prigged the Arithmetic Key, and hid it in another girl's desk?"
Rupert was utterly taken aback, his own vexation for a moment forgotten. He seemed to see in a flash, Gertie's white face when the matter was under discussion, a face whereon—so he fancied now—guilt was written.
It was Kenneth who first found speech. "What do you mean, Grey?" he said, his young voice not quite steady.
In a moment Grey's temper seemed to have evaporated, and shame had taken its place.
"I say, old chap," he stammered, "I'm awfully sorry I said it—I'd have bitten my tongue out sooner."