"Come in," said Renny, and Wright entered. He said: "The vet's here, sir."
"Good," exclaimed Renny, rising. With a movement of suppressed irritation he turned to Leigh: "What do you want me to do?"
He was faintly suspicious of Leigh. He felt that Leigh had cornered him. He supposed that Finch had got Leigh working on his behalf. He had a way of enlisting the sympathies of susceptible people—intellectual people. There had been Alayne. How she had pleaded for music lessons for him! The thought of her softened him. He added: "I don't expect Finch to plug away and never have any fun. I don't object to anything so long as it's not going to interfere with his studies."
A clumber spaniel that had come in with Wright raised himself on his hind legs beside the desk and began to lick the buttery crumbs of toast from the plate.
A feeling of weakness stole over Leigh. His efforts seemed suddenly futile. The life of this place was too strong for him, the personalities of the Whiteoaks too vigorous. He could never penetrate the solid wall they presented to the world. Even Renny's words scarcely encouraged him.
He watched the spaniel licking the plate in a trancelike silence for a moment, then he said, with an effort: "If you would only let Finch feel that. If he could know that you don't despise him for needing something—some form of expression other than the routine of the school curriculum—of school games"
Wright's round blue eyes were riveted on his face. The eyes of all the horses in the glossy prints and lithographs that covered the wall were riveted on him, their nostrils distended in contempt.
Renny took the spaniel by the collar and put him gently to the floor. Outside in the stable a man's voice was raised, shouting orders. There was a clatter of hoofs.
Leigh said, hurriedly: "Mr. Whiteoak, will you promise me something? Let Finch spend the next fortnight with me. I'll help him all I can with his work, and I honestly think I can help a good deal. Then I
