“Why, it’s half-past eight,” said Heathcote.
“Wonderful! and the post goes at nine!”
“But I mean I shall get in a row for going out.”
“Wonderful again! If anyone asks you, say I told you to go. Look alive!”
Heathcote took the letter mechanically and went. He was too dazed to argue the matter, and too much disturbed by Pledge’s apparent knowledge of the scrape which was weighing on him and his friends to care to run the risk of offending him just now.
As he was creeping across the Quadrangle, a door opened, and Mansfield confronted him.
“Where are you going?”
“To the post. Pledge gave me leave.”
“Go back to your room,” said Mansfield, shutting the door.
“He’s forgotten to give me lines,” said Georgie to himself. “By Jove! I hope he’s not going to send me up to Winter!”