“Oh, please, mother, don’t. There was nothing in it; really, there wasn’t.”
“You haven’t had a row, have you, Roland?”
“Of course not, mother. What should we have a row about?”
“I don’t know, dear. I only thought——”
“Well, you needn’t worry about us, mother; we’re all right.”
Roland was by no means pleased at what seemed to him a distinct case of interference. It arrived, too, at a most inopportune moment, for he had been just then wondering whether he ought not to forget about his high-minded resolves and try to make it up with April. His mother’s inquiries, however, decided him. He was not going to have others arranging that sort of thing for him. “And for all I know,” he said to himself, “Mrs. Curtis may be at the back of this. I shan’t go round there again these holidays.” And this was the more unfortunate, because if the intimacy between Roland and April had been resumed, it is more than likely that Roland, at the beginning of the summer term, would have decided to give up Dolly altogether. Both he and Brewster were a little tired of it; the first interest had passed, and they had actually discussed the wisdom of dropping the whole business.
“After all,” said Brewster, “it can’t go on forever. It’ll have to stop some time, and next term we shall both be fairly high in the school, house prefects and all that, and we shall have to be pretty careful what we do.”
Roland was inclined to agree with him, but his curiosity was still awake.
“It’s not so easy to break a thing like this. Let’s wait till the end of the term. The summer holidays are a long time, and by the time we come back they’ll very likely have picked up someone else.”
“All right,” said Brewster, “I don’t mind. And it does add an interest to things.”
And so the affair went on smoothly and comfortably, a pleasant interlude among the many good gifts of a summer term—cricket and swimming and the long, lazy evenings. Nothing, indeed, occurred to ruffle the complete happiness of Roland’s life, till one Monday morning during break Brewster came running across to the School house studies with the disastrous news that his house master had found out all about it. It had happened thus:
On the previous Saturday Roland had sent up a note in break altering the time of an appointment. It was the morning of a school match and Brewster received the note on his way down to the field. He was a little late, and as soon as he had read the note he shoved it into his pocket and thought no more about it. During the afternoon he slipped, trying to bring off a one-handed catch in the slips, and tore the knee of his trousers. The game ended late and he had only just time to change and take his trousers round to the matron to be mended before lock-up. In the right-hand pocket the matron discovered Roland’s note, and, judging its contents singular, placed it before Mr. Carus Evans.
As Roland walked back with Brewster from the tuckshop a small boy ran up to tell him that Mr. Carus Evans would like to see him directly after lunch.
Roland was quite calm as he walked up the hill three hours later. One is only frightened when one is uncertain of one’s fate. When a big row is on, in which one may possibly be implicated, one endures agonies, wondering whether or not one will be found out. But when it is settled, when one is found out, what is there to do? One must let things take their course; nothing can alter it. There is no need for fret or fever. Roland was able to consider his position with detached interest.
He had been a fool to send that note. Notes always got lost or dropped and the wrong people picked them up. How many fellows had not got themselves bunked that way, notes and confirmation? They were the two great menaces, the two hidden rocks. Probably confirmation was the more dangerous. On the whole, more fellows had got the sack through confirmation, but notes were not much better. What an ass he had been. He would never send a note again, never; he swore it to himself, and then reflected a little dismally that he might very likely never have the opportunity.
Still, that was rather a gloomy view to take. And he stood more chance with Carus Evans than he would have done with any other master. Carus Evans had always hated him, and because he hated him would be desperately anxious to treat him fairly. As a result he would be sure to underpunish him. It is always safer to have a big row with a master who dislikes you than with one who is your friend. And from this reflection Roland drew what comfort he might.
Mr. Carus Evans sat writing at his desk when Roland came in. He looked up and then went on with his letter. It was an attempt to make Roland feel uncomfortable and to place him at the start at a disadvantage. It was a characteristic action, for Carus Evans was a weak man. His house was probably the slackest in the school. It had no one in the XV., Brewster was its sole representative in the XI. and it did not possess one school prefect. This should not have been, for Carus Evans was a bachelor and all his energies were available. He had no second interest to attract him, but he was weak when he should have been strong; he chose the wrong prefects and placed too much confidence in them. He was not a natural leader.
For a good two minutes he went on writing, then put down his pen.
“Ah, yes, yes, Whately. Sit down, will you? Now then, I’ve been talking to one of the boys in my house and it seems that you and he have been going out together and meeting some girls in the town. Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the suggestion came from you, I gather?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is a very serious thing, Whately. I suppose you realize that?”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“Of course it is, and especially so for a boy in your position. Now, I don’t know what attitude the headmaster will adopt, but of this I am quite certain. A great deal will depend on whether you tell me the truth. I shall know if you tell me a lie. You’ve got to tell me the whole story. Now, how did this thing start?”
“On the first night of the Christmas term, sir.”
“How?”
“I met them at a dance in the pageant grounds.”
“The pageant grounds are out of bounds. You ought to know that.”
“It was the first night, sir.”
“Don’t quibble with me. They’re out of bounds. Well, what happened next?”
“I danced with her, sir.”
“Were you alone?”
“No, sir.”
“Who was with you?”
“I can’t tell you, sir.”
“If you don’t tell me——”
“He’s left now, sir. It wouldn’t be fair.”
They looked each other in the face and in that moment Carus Evans realized that, in spite of their positions, Roland was the stronger.
“Oh, well, never mind that; we can leave it till later on. And I suppose you made an appointment?”
