The row of faces at tea seemed to frighten him. He felt as if he had awakened out of a nightmare, that still held on to him with cold, clammy hands, and was trying to draw him back once more into its web. Visions rose before him of shrieking showmen's booths, blinking with tawdry yellow eyes. Emmie's hoarse laugh grated on his ears; he was overwrought and wanted to shout, to shriek, to give some vent to his feelings. But he seemed chained to the long bench, and his tongue was tied so that he could only mouth out silly platitudes about the weather and the Fifteen's chances. On his way back to the studies he felt an arm laid in his. He shivered and turned round, half expecting to see Emmie's flushed, exciting face peering up at him. He almost sighed with relief when he found it was Tester. "Look here, just come for a stroll round the courts. The rain's stopped. I want to talk to you." They wandered out under the lindens. "I suppose you did go out last night, didn't you?" "Yes." "What on earth did you do it for?" "I am sick of the whole affair," Gordon said petulantly. "Rudd called the lot of us funks, so----" "I know that tale quite well," Tester broke in. "I want to know why you went out. At least I don't mean that. I mean to tell you why you went out, because I don't think you know yourself. You have made an awful fool of yourself. You have run the risk of getting sacked, merely because you wanted to be talked about." "I didn't. I went because I was jolly well not going to have Rudd calling me a funk." "Comes to the same thing in the end, doesn't it? You did not want to play second fiddle; you didn't want Rudd to appear to have scored. You wanted to be the central figure. Much the same, isn't it? The love of notoriety." Gordon murmured something inaudible.