He went in cheerfully. Except for one electric candlestick upon the writing-table, the room was in darkness, but the candle was so placed that it shone directly upon the Head’s lined countenance, and Rouse could see that it was very grimly set. He moved across the room and stood before the table in readiness to learn the worst. Their eyes met. Rouse did not give way. He looked at the Head, not impudently, but with evident self-reliance. And the Head looked at him. “Where have you been, Rouse?” For one moment Rouse was in doubt as to how much was known, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say: “Bird’s-nesting,” or: “I’ve been out into the country, sir, and I was a bit late back.” But something in the other’s expectant eyes warned him, and finally he answered simply enough: “It was the Rainhurst match, sir. And we’ve been to play it.” The Head made no move. “You led me to believe that the whole of your fixtures for the season were cancelled.” He paused. “In this school—or indeed in any school—there must be one Head and one alone!” It occurred to Rouse to murmur brightly the truism that two heads are better than one, but he remained discreetly silent. “My orders were that, until the captain of football was properly recognised in this school, football was to cease. In addition, you have been out of bounds. I find that the whole school have been with you and there is no doubt that it was you who persuaded them to go. You have dared to challenge my authority. By posing as a martyr to my stern ruling you have earned such easy popularity that your vanity has grown into a foolish bubble. I think that when the school wakes up to-morrow to find what you have led them into that bubble will be pricked. You will be no longer a self-appointed hero; you will have very little to be proud about. No doubt you considered that by devising the expedition which you led this afternoon you were covering yourself with fame. It might have been so. But those who knew me at Wilton could tell you that it was a very idle hope if you thought that you could defeat me.” He paused. “Why did you do it?” he demanded, in sudden violent anger. Rouse was about to answer, but the Head leaned forward across the table and pointed at him with a thick forefinger. It was clear that he required no answer. “I can tell you why,” said he. “It was to gratify your self-conceit. In the face of my stringent order, you deliberately arranged a match in which you could pose as captain of the school team, purely to appease your injured vanity.” He stopped suddenly. Rouse’s countenance had undergone a surprising change. There was no longer any expression at all to be discerned upon it. His face had become a mask. He was a little pale. The only signs that there was any life behind it lay in the brightness of his eyes and the occasional movement of his mouth.