Martin knew that he hadn't shouted: he had only muttered something. He hadn't Anstey's pluck. The thought was bitter and increased his admiration of Heseltine's victim. Anstey had suffered for what he had helped to do. "But what about this persecution?" he exclaimed suddenly. "I'm damned if I stand it." "And what do you propose to do?" "I don't see why we shouldn't remain friends." "Nor do I. But the powers disagree." "Damn the powers." "Certainly." "Well, I'm going to see you as often as I like if you'll have me. If Heseltine says anything I'll tell him to go to Berney or Foskett if he likes." Anstey made no reply. "Do you mean," said Martin, "that you won't go on, that you don't want me?" "Of course I want you. But it's no use fighting. I've got a bad name with the beaks and it's a hundred to one they back up Heseltine. You know how they drop on this sort of thing. I think they're all wrong: in this case I know they are. But there it is. They've got the whip hand and we can't fight against the odds." "I'm willing to try." "If you do, you'll be very admirable and very foolish. Look here. You may be a pre next term. Fighting means you miss that; it means nothing but trouble all day long. I've been in rows and I know. It's no use. There's more pluck in surrender." Martin got up. "I think I'll go," he said. "I hope you don't think I'm playing a low-down game," interrupted Anstey. "No, it isn't that. I just want to think things over. Besides, time is up."