“You may go, Marlay,” he said.
But, as Ivor was again going, a voice snapped from behind him:—
“You don’t believe in tradition, I suppose, Marlay?”
Ivor swung round with a livid face.
“Yes, I do, sir,” he said flatly. “That’s exactly why I was bored—the tradition here is one of boredom.”
The silence that followed was broken only by a funny noise in the Little Man’s throat. And Ivor was afraid.
“I—I meant,” he stammered, “that it m-must be pretty—boring for you, sir—teaching boys and——”
“You had better go, Marlay,” said the head-master.
And this time it was Ivor who turned round from the door and faced the terrible silence of the room. His face had gone from white to deep red.
“Good-bye, sir,” he said. “And thank you, sir—really.”