Angrily, Eric was aware of his red hands. Out-of-doors it was cold. And he could feel how untidy his hair was. He smoothed it clumsily, slung his gown over his other arm, dropped his books, cursed, picked them up and knocked at number eleven.

Complete silence. Eric waited, half-raised his hand to knock again, let it fall. He had an almost overwhelming impulse to run away, and might have done so, had not the chambermaid reappeared at the end of the passage. Drawing himself together, marshalling his rehearsed intentions, his prearranged attitudes, closing the eyes of his reason, he rapped loudly on the door.

“Come in.”

It was quite a small room, and Edward Blake lay in bed, facing the window. He did not turn his head at once, and Eric had a moment’s impression of the profile of an invalid—pale, unshaven, staring passively at the daylight. His breakfast stood beside him on a little table, but he seemed to have eaten nothing.

He turned slowly, beginning a yawn which abruptly ended:

“Hullo? Good morning.”

He may well look surprised, Eric thought. Answered gravely:

“Good morning.”

There was a pause, during which Edward seemed to become fully awake:

“Won’t you sit down?”

“I’d rather stand, thank you.”

Edward yawned, stretched himself, grinned:

“Do by all means, if you prefer it.”

“I’m afraid I’m disturbing you,” said Eric, feeling the anger rise within him. “I shouldn’t have come so early.”

“Not at all.”

“I shan’t keep you long.”

Edward reached a thin, sallow hand out to the table for a cigarette case:

“Won’t you smoke?”

“No, thank you.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Edward, lighting his cigarette, “I’m very grateful to you for calling me. I’ve got to catch a train up to town to-day.”

“I know. That’s why I came.”

“I see.”

“There’s s-something”—Eric made a desperate effort to control his voice, but it was loud, hoarse, abrupt, and the stammer seized him—“s-something I must t-talk to you about.”

A very faint smile seemed to pass like a shadow over Edward’s mouth. He was sneering again. The swine. He exclaimed suddenly:

“I say, I do wish you’d sit down.”

Eric made no acknowledgment. He took a chair, curtly, with a certain pleasure that he’d managed to get on Edward’s nerves. There was a long silence. Eric was quite calm again now—ready for the attack. But he wasn’t going to lose the least advantage. Edward should speak first.

“Well, what is it?”

Eric moved his chair a little.

“It’s about Maurice.”

A chambermaid passed down the passage with a clinking tray.

“About Maurice?”

“Yes.”

Again that shadow of a smile on Edward’s face.

“What about Maurice?”