“There’s no use our saying or doing anything,” said that worthy. “We shall probably only make things worse. It’s sure to come out in time, and till then we must grin and bear it.”
“All very well,” said some one, “but Greenfield will be grinning too.”
“I fancy not,” said Pembury. “I’m not a particular angel myself, but I’ve a notion if I had cheated a schoolfellow I should be a trifle off my grinning form; I don’t know.”
This modest confession caused some amusement, and helped a good deal to restore the class to a better humour.
“After all, I don’t envy the fellow his feelings this minute,” continued Pembury, following up his advantage.
“And I envy his prospects in the Fifth still less,” said Ricketts.
“If you take my advice,” said Pembury, “you’ll leave him pretty much to himself. Greenfield is a sort of fellow it’s not easy to score off; and some of you would only make fools of yourselves if you tried to do it.”
Wraysford had stood by during this conversation, torn by conflicting emotions. He was undoubtedly bitterly disappointed to have missed the scholarship; but that was as nothing to the knowledge that it was his friend, his own familiar friend, who had turned against him and thus grievously wronged him. Yet with all his sense of injury he could hardly stand by and listen to all the bitter talk about Oliver in his absence without a sense of shame. Two days ago he would have flared up at the first word, and given the rash speaker something to remember. Now it was his misery to stand by and hear his old chum abused and despised, and to feel that he deserved every word that was spoken of him!
If he could only have found one word to say on his behalf!
But he could not, and so left the room as soon as it was possible to escape, and retired disconsolately to his own study.