“But look here, my boy, let’s be clear about one thing.”

“Yes?”

“You’re quite mad.”

They looked at each other.

“The harmless kind, though,” said George confidently, well aware that Mr. Enwright doted upon him.

In another minute the principal had gone to bed, without having uttered one word as to his health.  George had announced that he should tidy the sacred desk before departing.  When he had done that he wrote a letter, in pencil.  “It’s the least I can do,” he said to himself seriously.  He began: 

“DEAR MISS INGRAM.”—­“Dash it!—­She calls me ‘George,’” he thought, and tore up the sheet.—­“DEAR LOIS,—­I think after what you said it’s only due to you to tell you that I’ve decided to go in for that competition on my own.  Thanks for the tip.—­Yours, GEORGE CANNON”

He surveyed the message.

“That’s about right,” he murmured.

Then he looked at his watch.  It showed 3.15, but it had ceased to beat.  He added at the foot of the letter:  “Monday, 3.30 a.m.”  He stole one of John Orgreave’s ready-stamped envelopes.

In quitting the house he inadvertently banged the heavy front door.

“Do ’em good!” he said, thinking of awakened sleepers.

It was now quite light.  He dropped the letter into the pillar-box round the corner, and as soon as he had irretrievably done so, the thought occurred to him:  “I wish I hadn’t put ‘3.30 a.m.’  There’s something rottenly sentimental about it.”  The chill fresh air was bracing him to a more perfect sanity.  He raised the collar of his overcoat.

IV

At the club on Tuesday morning Downs brought to his bedside a letter addressed in a large, striking, and untidy hand.  Not until he had generally examined the letter did he realize that it was from Lois Ingram.  He remembered having mentioned to her that he lived at his club—­Pickering’s; but he had laid no stress on the detail, nor had she seemed to notice it.  Yet she must have noticed it.

“DEAR GEORGE,—­I am so glad.  Miss Wheeler is going to her bootmaker’s in Conduit Street to-morrow afternoon.  She’s always such a long time there.  Come and have tea with me at the new Prosser’s in Regent Street, four sharp.  I shall have half an hour.—­L.I.”

In his heart he pretended to jeer at this letter.  He said it was ‘like’ Lois.  She calmly assumed that at a sign from her he, a busy man, would arrange to be free in the middle of the afternoon!  Doubtless the letter was the consequence of putting ‘3.30 a.m.’ on his own letter.  What could a fellow expect?...

All pretence!  In reality the letter flattered and excited him.  He thought upon the necktie he would wear.