Since his confession Finch avoided Deering. He felt self-conscious about his sentimental outbreak against being “thrown over.” Tony certainly had not thrown him over, but he did not see his way to be with Finch anything more than persistently patient and kind. Only once afterward was the subject of their conversation of the night of the faculty-meeting reopened. “Of course, Jake,” Tony said, “you see, just as well as I do, how absolutely wrong your actions were. I am going to leave it entirely to you to set yourself right with Wilson—right to the extent, at least, of letting him know that you are sorry. He has been mighty decent to keep quiet.” “Oh, he hasn’t kept quiet,” Finch rejoined sullenly. “Most of your crowd—of his crowd, anyway, know more or less about it. I have seen that all along.” “Well, perhaps they do; I have not heard them speak of it anyway. Kit can’t have told it very generally, or I would have heard.” “Oh, I don’t know—not after the row you had with him about me. They all like you too much, except Wilson, to give you a chance to get sore again. They don’t think me worth bothering about.” “Well, even so—you have given some cause for that attitude now. But I tell you what, I want to get right with Kit again. Not, old chap, at the price of throwing you over—don’t think that!—but, on the other hand, I don’t want to make keeping on good terms with you the price of Kit’s friendship. There isn’t need. And can’t you see that I cannot be the one to tell Kit the—to tell Kit about you?” Finch did not see, but he kept silent. He appreciated neither Tony’s deep feeling for his friend nor Tony’s delicate consideration for him. He was thinking dolefully of just how miserable and unfortunate and unlovable he was. Yet, with all the ardor of his intense famished little soul, he clung to Deering’s patient tolerance, and mutely resolved to give him no chance of “flinging him off.” But as for going to Kit with the truth, that was an act of which he was incapable, an act of which he was even incapable of perceiving the point. “I’m just worthless, Deering,” he said at last miserably, “I’ll be thankful when it’s all over.” “Now, cut that out, Jake. Get out and play with somebody. Don’t mope round all the time; and come in often and see us. Jimmie is glad to have you.” “Thanks,” said Finch. He longed to open again the conversation about the Head Prefectship, and learn from Tony what he really felt about that, but with dull shame for his baseness, he did not dare. And as for Tony that was a subject that he felt he never could discuss with Finch again.