it a long time. People
have found out. They say to one another, when I send in my papers,
'This man is a liar. Every morning of his life he gives his assent to
lies. And now he is going to teach the very lies he pretends to
exterminate. We can't have anything to do with a man like that.' And
there's a conspiracy, Miss Christine, a conspiracy----" His voice
began to rise and tremble. "They've taken me off my old classes under
the pretext that they are too much for me. They've set me on to
Scripture. Then they told me I had to remember--remember
circumstances--to prevent myself from saying what I thought of such
devilish cruelty. But I saw that they wanted me to break out so that
they could get rid of me altogether, and I held my tongue. One of
these days, though, I shall stand up in the open places and tell the
truth. I shall say what they have done to me----"

He had forgotten, if he had ever fully realized, that there were
strangers about him. He shook his fist and shouted, whilst the slow,
hopeless tears rolled down the sunken yellow cheeks onto the dirty
manuscript.

They stared at him in consternation, all but Francey, who uncurled
herself negligently and slid from the sofa.

"It's past my tea-time," she announced, "and I want my tea."

It was as though she had neither seen nor cared. Christine turned her
faded, groping eyes thankfully in her direction.

"Of course, my dear. Robert--please----"

"No," he said; "we don't have tea, Francey."

"But, Robert, at least when we have guests----"

"Or guests," he added, with a set, white face.

Cosgrave laughed. He made a comic grimace. He seemed utterly
irrepressible and irresponsible, like a colt let out for the first time
in a wide field.

"You don't know this fellow like I do, Miss Wilmot. A nasty Spartan.
But if you'll put a shilling in the gas meter we'll get cakes and a
quarter of tea. He doesn't need to have any if he doesn't want it, but
he can't grudge us a corner of table and half a chair each. Miss
Christine's on our side, aren't you, Miss Christine? And oh, Connie,
there's a pastrycook's round the corner where they make jam-puffs like
they did when I was a kid----"

"I'll put the kettle on," Francey said, nodding to him.

She passed close to Robert. She even gave him a quick, friendly touch.
He could almost hear her say, "Tag, Robert!" but he would not look at
her. And yet the moment after he knew that it was all make-belie