of the owner of a cycle shop and was much admired in the school.
“Would you like it to be?” Roland asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps. But is it, though?”
“Perhaps.”
“It is Dorothy Jones, isn’t it? It is her?”
“If you know, why do you ask me?”
“Oh, don’t be a fool! Is it Dorothy Jones?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, if it isn’t her, is it Mary Gardiner?”
“It is Mary Gardiner,” Roland mocked. “It is she, isn’t it?”
“Oh, you’re awful,” said Brewster, and walked away.
But that evening he came over to the School house studies and, just before Hall, a small boy ran across to the reading-room to tell Roland that Brewster was waiting in the cloisters and would like to speak to him.
“Well,” said Roland, “and what is it?”
“It’s about the girl.”
Roland affected a weary impatience.
“Oh, Lord, but I thought we’d finished with all that. I told you that I wasn’t going to give her away.”
“Yes, I know; but … ah, well, look here, I must know who the girl is. No, don’t interrupt. Will you tell me if I promise to come out with her once?” Roland thought for a moment. He had his man now, but it would not do to hurry things. He must play for safety a little longer.
“Oh, yes, I know that game,” he said. “I shall tell you her name and then you’ll wish you hadn’t promised and you’ll get frightened, and when the time comes you will have sprained an ankle in a house match and won’t be able to come for a walk. That won’t do at all.”
“But I swear I wouldn’t do that,” Brewster protested. “Really, I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, and I promised that I wasn’t going to tell.”
“But that’s so silly. Suppose now that I was really keen on her. For all you know, or I, for that matter, I may have seen her walking about the town and thought her jolly pretty without knowing who she was.”
“And I’m damned certain you haven’t. You told me that you didn’t take any interest in girls.”
“No, but really, honest, man, I may have seen her. Only this morning as I was going down to Fort’s after breakfast I saw an absolutely ripping girl, and I believe it was me she smiled at. It’s very likely her.”
“Yes, yes, I daresay, but——”
“Oh, come on, do tell me, and I promise you I’ll come and see her; honest, I will.”
But at that moment the roll-bell issued its cracked summons.
“If you don’t run like sin you’ll be late for roll-call, and that’ll finish everything,” Roland said, and Brewster turned and sprinted across the courts.
Roland walked back to his study in a mood of deep self-satisfaction. He was carrying an extremely difficult job to a triumphant close. It did not occur to him that the role he filled was not a particularly noble one and that an unpleasantly worded label could be discovered for it. He was living in the days of unreflecting action. He did, or refrained from doing, the things he wanted to do, without a minute analysis of motive, but in accordance with a definite code of rules. He lived his life as he played cricket. There were rewards and there were penalties. If you hit across a straight long hop you ran a chance of being leg before, and if the ball hit your pad you went straight back to the pavilion. You played to win, but you played the game, provided that you played it according to the rules. It did not matter to Roland what the game was. And the affair of Betty and Brewster was a game that he was winning fairly and squarely.
Next morning he achieved victory. He met Brewster during break and presented his ultimatum.
“I won’t tell you her name,” he said. “I promised not to. It wouldn’t be the game. But I tell you what I will do, though. If you’ll promise to come out for a walk with me on Sunday I’ll arrange for her to meet us somewhere, and then you can see what you think of each other. Now, what do you say to that?”
Brewster’s curiosity was so roused that he accepted eagerly, and next Sunday they set out together towards Cold Harbour.
About a mile and a half from the school a sunken lane ran down the side of a steep hill towards the railway. The lane could be approached from two sides, and from the shelter of a thick hedge it was possible to observe the whole country-side without being seen. It was here that they had arranged their meeting.
They found the two girls waiting when they arrived. Betty looked very smart in a dark blue coat and skirt and a small hat that fitted tightly over her head. She smiled at Roland, and the sight, after months, of her fresh-colored face, with its bright eyes and wide, moist mouth, sent a sudden thrill through him—half fear, half excitement.
“So you’ve managed to arrange it,” said Dolly. “How clever of you.”
“Very nice of him to come,” said Betty, her eyes fixed on Brewster, who stood awkwardly, his hands in his pockets, kicking one heel against the other.
For a few minutes they talked together, stupid, inconsequent badinage, punctuated by giggles, till Betty, as usual, reminded them that they would only have an hour together.
“About time we paired off, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” said Roland. “Come along, Dolly,” and they began to walk down the lane. At the corner they turned and saw the other two standing together—Betty, taller, confident and all-powerful; Brewster, looking up at her, scared and timid, his hands clasped behind him.
“He looks a bit shy, doesn’t he?” said Dolly.
Roland laughed.
“He won’t be for long, I expect.”
“Rather not. He’ll soon get used to her. Betty doesn’t let her boys stop shy with her for long. She makes them do as she wants them.”
And when they returned an hour later they saw the two sitting side by side chatting happily. But as soon as they reached them Brewster became silent and shy, and looked neither of them in the face.
“Had a good time?” asked Dolly.
“Ask him,” she answered.
And they laughed, all except Brewster, and made arrangements to meet again, only a little earlier the next week.
“Well,” said Roland, as soon as they were out of earshot, “and how did you enjoy yourself?”
Brewster admitted that it had been pretty good.
“Only pretty good?”
