as lying, and was the reverse of sorry for his misfortunes. He had
intended to give Jarnley his choice between fighting and being thrashed,
but how, in the name of common decency, could he punch a fellow's head
who expressed such effusive sympathy? He could not. Baulked, he glared
round upon the group.

"Any one else like to take advantage of the opportunity?" he said.
"You, Perkins?"

"I don't want to fight, Haviland," was the sullen answer.

"Very well, then. But don't let me hear of any of you bullying Cetchy
any more. He can tell me now, because I'm no longer a prefect; and any
fellow who does will get the very best hammering he ever had in his
life. That's all."

His former colleagues spared no pains to let him see that they still
regarded him as one of themselves. Among other things they pressed him
to use the prefects' room as formerly, but this he refused to do. If he
had been walking with any of them he would stop short at the door, and
no amount of persuasion could prevail on him to enter.

"You needn't be so beastly proud, Haviland," Laughton had said, half
annoyed by these persistent refusals. "Why, man, Nick's bound to
reinstate you before long. The notice, mind, says `suspended' only."

At which Haviland had shaken his head and laughed strangely.

The confinement to grounds told horribly upon his spirits. Three
miserable cricket fields--as a matter of fact they were remarkably open
and spacious--to be the sole outlet of his energies during all these
weeks! He hated every stick and stone of them, every twig and leaf. He
saw others coming and going at will, but he himself was a prisoner. Not
even to the swimming pool might he go.

In sheer desperation he had followed Laughton's advice, and gone in for
cricket, but had proved so half-hearted over the game, then bad-tempered
and almost quarrelsome, that no one was sorry when he declared his
intention of giving it up. More and more he became given over to
brooding--seeking a quiet corner apart, and looking out on to the open
country from which he was debarred. While thus occupied one day, a hand
dropped on his shoulder. Turning angrily--thinking some other fellow
was playing the fool, and trying to startle him--he confronted Mr
Sefton.

"What were you thinking about, Haviland?" said the latter in his quick,
sharp, quizzical way.

"Oh, I don't know, sir. Nothing very particular, I suppose," forcing a
laugh, for he was not going to w