him doubtfully, and
one or two bristled up grimly. The _eclat_ of his first appearance at
Grandcourt had paled somewhat, and he was thankful to have Grover to
talk to and keep him in countenance.

"Tell me who some of these men are," he whispered. "Which is Roe?"

"On the other side of me. He has the house next to mine. You, I, Roe,
and Bickers have the four sides of the Big Square."

"Which is Bickers?"

"The man with the black beard--last but one on the other side."

Railsford gave a furtive look down the table, and encountered the eyes
of Mr Bickers fixed discontentedly on him.

A lightning flash at midnight will often reveal minute details of a
scene or landscape which in the ordinary glare of day might pass
unnoticed by the observer. So it was in this sudden chance encounter of
glances. It lasted not a moment, but it was a declaration of war to the
knife on one side, hurled back defiantly on the other.

"Not a bad fellow if you don't stroke him the wrong way," said Grover.

"Oh," said Railsford, in a tone which made his friend start. "Who is
beyond him?"

"Lablache, the French master; not very popular, I fancy."

And so on, one master after another was pointed out, and Railsford
formed his own opinions of each, and began to feel at home with several
of them already. But whenever his eyes turned towards the end of the
table they invariably encountered those of Bickers.

There was not much general conversation at the masters' table. Dr
Ponsford rarely encouraged it, and resented it when it arose without his
initiative.

The buzz and clatter at the boys' tables, however, growing occasionally
to a hubbub, amply made up for any sombreness in the meal elsewhere; and
Railsford, having exhausted his inquiries, and having failed to engage
one of his neighbours in conversation, resigned himself to the enjoyment
of the animated scene. He was not long in discovering the whereabouts
of his youthful kinsman, whose beaming face shone out from the midst of
a bevy of particular friends, while ever and again above the turmoil,
like a banner in the breeze, waved the tawny mane of Sir Digby Oakshott.
It amused Railsford to watch the group, and when now and then they
looked his way, to speculate on what was the subject of their
conversation. Perhaps Arthur had been telling them of the new master's
athletic achievements at Cambridge, and how he had rowed his boat to the
head of the river; or possibly he had been