As we walked home I proved to George that boxing matches were really all right; that they were infinitely less dangerous than football matches. Every one of my arguments convinced George, and after I had finished he found some for himself, which I accepted as equally incontrovertible. Considering that there was nobody to take up an opposite point of view, our apologies might have appeared hardly necessary, but George was able to give me, in addition, a list of all the good qualities fighting brought out, or even brought into existence. Most of these did not exactly fit in with my more superficial impression of the audience, and there were others I could not help feeling many of them would be better without――courage, for instance. I had a dim idea that a little extra courage might result in a majority of them figuring at the next Assizes. But when we were three-quarters way home I said to George, “It was all pretty beastly, and that’s why we liked it――eh?” He got quite offended, telling me that if _he_ had thought it beastly he wouldn’t have waited on to the end, as I did. This was just possible, yet my opinion of George sank. “If you admire it so much,” I said, “I’ll give you a turn any time you like.” George was silent, and flushed slightly. “Well?” I kept on, pugnaciously. George mumbled something, I don’t know what, and I saw that I had actually frightened him. We walked the rest of the way home in silence. George was angry with me, but when we were in the house and had sat down to supper he became friendly again. As I discovered later, company was the one thing absolutely indispensable to him; he could have kept on being angry with me, and, indeed, would have enjoyed doing so, had he had anybody else to talk to, but solitude he could not bear. And I, on my side, forgot his having sulked on the way home, just as, later on, I was to forget more than one unpleasant thing, simply because he amused me, because he could always make me laugh. After supper I said good-night to the others, and George and I went upstairs. George went in front of me and lit the gas in the bedroom. “Is this my room?” I asked, noticing that there were two beds in it. “Yours an’ mine,” George answered. His reply was unexpected. I had never slept with anybody in my life, and it had not occurred to me that I should not have a room to myself. I said nothing, but George, who was far from stupid, saw I did not like the arrangement. “There is no other room,” he admitted frankly. “I thought you knew. I thought ma put it in her letter.” “I didn’t see her letter,” I murmured.