A pause. A yearning look of what seemed like detection—detection pleading for pardon—crossed Mr. Henry's countenance. The hour, which he had been dreading for months, was come; and he was not ready for it! He sat in uncomfortable suspense, not knowing how much or how little the master knew, pressing his thin fingers together, his elbows resting on the arm of the chair.
"That some unpleasant trouble was on your mind I have undoubtedly seen," resumed the doctor. "Now that the opportunity for explanation has come, I think you must afford it to me."
"I cannot disclose it to you now, sir," said Mr. Henry slowly, and with evident pain. "Perhaps in a day or two—"
"But suppose no disclosure is needed?—suppose I know it already?" interrupted the master.
"Is that so?" asked Mr. Henry, lifting his face.
"It is. The affair has unhappily come to my knowledge; not, of course, the inducement—the—the leading motive for yielding to the temptation. I cannot describe to you how it has pained me. Had you been a son of mine I could scarcely have felt it more. It seemed that I might so fully trust you."
"Since when have you known it?" asked Mr. Henry in a low tone.
"For some weeks now. I did not stir in it at the time," continued the master, brushing a large fly off his black waistcoat, "on account of not interrupting the classes of the boys who were going up for the examination. And, that over, I thought things might remain as they were until the vacation, as they had gone on so long."
"Then you intend to discharge me, Dr. Brabazon?"
The doctor could not help thinking it was rather an assuming question. He played with his paper weight on the table.