“Good. Question two, which you need not answer if any sense of honour forbid you. Why have they deserved this—er disgrace? And why do you join in inflicting it?” David drew a long breath; there was no sense of honour that would be violated in telling the Head, but to do so was like taking a high header into unknown waters, when it required all the courage you were possessed of to go off a low board into four feet of familiar swimming-bath. “Please, sir, it’s quite obvious that Car——” He had begun with a rush, and the rush had carried him too far. “Carrots,” said the Head suggestively. (Lord! how did he know? thought David.) “Please, sir, we felt sure that Miss Edith had got Ferrers into a row, because she saw him in Richmond week before last,” said David. “And—and sneaked to me?” suggested the Head. “Yes, sir, told you.” “I dare say Miss Edith saw him,” said the Head, “but I haven’t the slightest idea whether she actually did or not. I saw him myself. Miss Edith had nothing to do with it. Kindly tell your friends so.” “I’ll tell them,” said David. “They’ll be awfully glad, sir.” “Why?” asked the Head. Again David dived off the high header-board into dark waters. “Because nobody wanted to think she was a sneak, sir,” he said. “We always thought she was a good chap—young lady, I mean, sir.” The Head nodded, and for the next half-minute busied himself with the reports that had come in this morning. “I think there was something else I wanted to see you about,” he said. “Yes: here it is. You are reported for being in Crabtree’s cubicle before dressing-bell this morning. Any explanation?” “No, sir,” said David. “You knew it was against the rules?” “Yes, sir.” The Head drew a large and dreaded book towards him, which contained a list of all the boys’ names, and against each the number of times they had been reported for any misconduct during the current term. Next the name of Blaize was that of Bellingham, and, glancing at it hastily, he credited David with Bellingham’s stainless record. “I see you have not been reported before this term,” he said. The moment he had spoken he saw his mistake; on the line below was David’s record, showing that lie had been reported twice. But he waited for David’s answer. He had not considered what he should do if David accepted the statement, but he believed, and wanted to prove to himself, that David would not. A joyful possibility whirled through David’s mind; it was conceivable that previous reports against him had not been entered. And then, not really knowing why, he spoke. “No, sir, I have been reported before,” he said. “For the same offence?” “Yes, sir.” “Once before?” asked the Head, feeling that his test stood firm. “No, sir, twice,” said David, squeezing his hands together. The Head closed the book. He put it in the middle drawer and closed that also.