they had reached some ears; so perhaps he had little to complain about after all. Not that foul language had ever been his habit; but he had never been so particular as Chips, for example, now so devout in the Lord's Prayer at the other end of the Sixth Form table. Old Chips in his early days had gone to the foolhardy and (in him) futile length of reproof by word; even now he was rising from his knees as though he had been really praying; but Jan had only been thinking his own thoughts, though kneeling there without doubt for the last time.
And yet a second moment's doubt did thrill him as Heriot took up his usual stand in front of the grate, and some of the fellows made a dash for milk and dog-rocks at the bottom of the long table, but more clustered round the fireplace to hear Heriot and Jan discuss the match. They actually did discuss it for a minute or two; but Heriot was dry as tinder in spite of his intentions; and when he suddenly announced that he would sign all verses in the morning, but would just like to speak to Rutter for a minute, Jan followed him through into the private part with a stabbing conviction that all was over with him.
"I've heard Mr. Haigh's story," said Heriot very coldly in his study. "Do you wish me to hear yours?"
"No, sir,"
Jan did not wince at Heriot's tone, but Heriot did at his. The one was to be expected, the other almost brazen in its unblushing alacrity.
"You have nothing whatever to say for yourself, after all these years, after"
Heriot pulled himself up—as on his haunches—with a jerk of the grizzled head and a fierce flash of the glasses.
"But from all I hear I'm not surprised," he added with bitter significance. "I find I've been mistaken in you all along."
