In Fane-Herbert the effect of good breeding was conspicuous. When he smiled, his small white teeth and dancing eyes could not fail to cast a spell. In anger he became cold and aloof, refusing the easy relief of passion. He faced injustice and humiliation with an air of scornful pride which served him ill by irritating his oppressors. Intellectually he was unremarkable; but he was expert in all physical exercises that required quickness of eye and subtlety of wrist rather than force and speed. His whole manner was slow, almost languid. His reserve was not easily pierced, and only to his most intimate friends would he speak of himself. Upon the rest of the world he looked calmly, seeming scarcely to expect that others would be interested in him. Lynwood knew him well, liked him well, admired him for a dozen qualities; but he felt that in Fane-Herbert there was an element, not deliberately concealed, which was, however, never fully in the light of day, and therefore not entirely comprehensible. “How did you get here?” Sentley asked. “You weren’t in our train, Lynwood?” “No, I came across country--not from London.” “Did any of the others come with you--Driss, or Dyce, or any of the senior snotties?” “No, I came alone.” “They’ll come by a later train,” Cunwell declared. “They can go off by the seven o’clock officers’ boat. You bet the senior snotties anyhow won’t go on board before they must. I shouldn’t have come so early myself, but----” “Aren’t the senior snotties on board already?” Fane-Herbert asked. “No, of course not,” explained Cunwell, who knew everything. “The five senior snotties are also joining the _King Arthur_ to-day. Didn’t you know? They’ve been doing their destroyer time, and things like that. Now they are coming back to a big ship for a year before their lieutenant’s exams. But I believe there are four intermediate snotties there already--second year people, one year senior to us.” “I expect they won’t be too pleased with the seniors’ coming,” Sentley remarked. “Oh, they’ll take it out of us,” Fane-Herbert said. Lynwood was talking to Mr. Binney, and beginning to undress preparatory to getting into uniform. His round-jacket was lying on the table. Cunwell picked it up, and ostentatiously examined its sleeves. “I say, Lynwood,” he said, “I can see the marks where your Cadet Captain’s stripe has been.” “Can you? I can’t help it.” “Well, I shouldn’t let the senior snotties see it, if I were you. My brother told me that when he went to sea for the first time, one of the snotties who were with him had the marks of his stripes showing, and he got a dozen cuts once a week till they disappeared--just to teach him that Cadet Captains at Dartmouth have got to learn their place when they go to sea.”