“Well, I won’t speak of it before her,” conciliated Tom, somewhat won over, “or before my father, either; but catch me keeping it from the rest.” As Charles had partially foretold, they had barely entered, when Tom’s face again became ornamented with crimson. Annabel shrieked out, startling Mr. Channing on his sofa. Mrs. Channing, as it happened, was not present; Constance was: Lady Augusta Yorke and her daughters were spending part of the day in the country, therefore Constance had come home at twelve. “Look at Tom’s face!” cried the child. “What has he been doing?” “Hold your tongue, little stupid,” returned Tom, hastily bringing his handkerchief into use again; which, being a white one, made the worse exhibition of the two, with its bright red stains. “It’s nothing but a scratch.” But Annabel’s eyes were sharp, and she had taken in full view of the hurt. “Tom, you have been fighting! I am sure of it!” “Come to me, Tom,” said Mr. Channing. “Have you been fighting?” he demanded, as Tom crossed the room in obedience, and stood close to him. “Take your handkerchief away, that I may see your face.” “It could not be called a fight, papa,” said Tom, holding his cheek so that the light from the window fell full upon the hurt. “One of the boys offended me; I hit him, and he gave me this; then I knocked him down, and there it ended. It’s only a scratch.” “Thomas, was this Christian conduct?” “I don’t know, papa. It was schoolboy’s.” Mr. Channing could not forbear a smile. “I know it was a schoolboy’s conduct; that is bad enough: and it is my son’s, that is worse.” “If I had given him what he deserved, he would have had ten times as much; and perhaps I should, for my temper was up, only Gaunt put in his interference. When I am senior, my rule will be different from Gaunt’s.” “Ah, Tom! your ‘temper up!’ It is that temper of yours which brings you harm. What was the quarrel about?” “I would rather not tell you, papa. Not for my own sake,” he added, turning his honest eyes fearlessly on his father; “but I could not tell it without betraying something about somebody, which it may be as well to keep in.” “After that lucid explanation, you had better go and get some warm water for your face,” said Mr. Channing. “I will speak with you later.” Constance followed him from the room, volunteering to procure the warm water. They were standing in Tom’s chamber afterwards, Tom bathing his face, and Constance looking on, when Arthur, who had then come in from Mr. Galloway’s, passed by to his own room. “Hallo!” he called out; “what’s the matter, Tom?” “Such a row!” answered Tom. “And I wish I could have pitched into Pierce senior as I’d have liked. What do you think, Arthur? The school were taking up the notion that you--you!--had stolen old Galloway’s bank-note. Pierce senior set it afloat; that is, he and Mark Galloway together. Mark said a word, and Pierce said two, and so it went on. I should have paid Pierce out, but for Gaunt.”