“He must have a name,” said Heriot, coming back into the room. No answer. “I’m sorry you’re ashamed of your friend,” said Heriot, laughing. “He’s not my friend, and——” “I think that’s very likely,” put in Heriot, as the boy shut his lips once more. “What’s in a name? The chances are that it’s only a namesake after all.” He turned away without a sign of annoyance or of further interest in the matter. But another mumble from the bed intercepted him at the door. “Name of Devereux,” he made out. “Devereux, eh?” “Do you know him, sir?” “I should think I do!” “He’ll not be in this house?” Rutter was holding his breath. “No, but he got my prize last term.” “Do you know his other name?” It was a tremulous mumble now. “I’m afraid I don’t. Wait a bit! His initials are either E. P. or P. E. He only came last term.” “He only would. But I thought he was going to Winchester!” “That’s the fellow; he got a scholarship and came here instead, at the last moment.” The new boy in the top dormitory made no remark when the matron put out the gas. He was lying on his back with his eyes wide open, and his lips compressed out of sight, just as Heriot had left him. It was almost a comfort to him to know the worst for certain; and now that he did know it, beyond all possibility of doubt, he was beginning to wonder whether it need necessarily be the worst after all. It might easily prove the best. He had always liked Master Evan; that was as much as this boy would admit even in his heart. The fact would have borne a warmer recognition. Best or worst, however, he knew it as well as though Evan Devereux had already come back with the rest of the school, and either cut him dead or grasped his hand. The one thing not to be suspected for an instant was that the lean oldish man, with the kind word and the abrupt manner, could possibly know the secret of a new boy’s heart, and have entered already into his hopes and fears. It was very quiet in the top dormitory. Rutter wondered what it would be like when all the boys came back. Carpenter’s dormitory was downstairs, but they were all within earshot of each other. He wondered what it would have been like if Master Evan had been in that house, in that little dormitory, in the partition next his own. Master Evan! Yet he had never thought of him as anything else, much less addressed him by any other name. What if it slipped out at school! It easily might; indeed, far more easily and naturally than “Devereux.” That would sound very like profanity, in his ears, and on his lips.