We always became confidential on the Beaten Track; and to-day I suddenly pressed Penny’s arm and opened the subject that, though I would not have admitted it, was the most pressing at the moment.

“I say, why does Doe avoid us now?”

“The Gray Doe,” sneered Penny.  “Oh, he—­She’s in love, I suppose.  With Radley.”

“Don’t drivel,” I commanded; “why does he hang about with that awful Freedham?”

“When you’re my age, Rupert,” began Penny, in kind and accommodating explanation, “you’ll know that there are such things as degenerates and decadents.  Freedham is one.  And very soon Doe will be another.”

“Well, hang it,” I said, “if you think that, how can you joke about it, and leave him to go his way?”

“Oh, the young fellow must learn wisdom.  And he’s not in any danger of being copped.  I’m the only one that suspects; and I guessed because I’m exceptionally brilliant.  Besides, if he wants to go to the devil for a bit, you can’t take his arm and go with him.”

“No,” said I, “but you can take his arm and lug him back.”

“There are times, Rupert,” conceded Penny graciously, “when you show distinct promise.  I have great hopes of you, my boy.”

“Oh, shut up!” I said, mentally overthrown to find that, without forewarning of any kind, something had filled my throat like a sob of temper.  What was the matter with me?  I unlinked my arm and walked beside Penny in moody silence, determining that at an early opportunity I would bring about a quarrel between us which should not be easily repaired.  He, however, was disposed to continue being humorous, and frequently cracked little jokes aloud to himself.  “Here’s the butcher’s shop,” he explained, pointing to an array of carcasses; “hats off!  We’re in the presence of death.”  And, when he had purchased his sausages, he stepped gaily out of the place, saying:  “Come along, Rupert, my boy.  Home to tea!  Trip along at Nursie’s side.”  Just as I, thoroughly sulky, was wondering how best to break with him, and deciding to let him walk on alone a hundred yards, before I resumed my homeward journey, I heard his voice saying: 

“Talking about Doe, there he is.  And the naughty lad has been strictly forbidden to enter the town.  Dear, dear!”

It was an acute moment.  There, far ahead of us, was Doe in the company of Freedham, with whom he was turning into a doorway.  A pang of jealousy stabbed me, and with a throb, that was as pleasing as painful, I realised that I loved Doe as Orestes loved Pylades.

The truth is this:  ever since our form had been engaged on Cicero’s “De Amicitia,” I had wanted to believe that my friendship for Doe was on the classical models.  And now came the gift of faith.  It was born of my sharp jealousy, my present weariness of Pennybet, and my heroic resolution to rescue Doe from the degenerate hands of Freedham.  Only go nobly to someone’s assistance, and you will love him for ever.  Love!  It was an unusual word for a shy boy to admit into his thoughts, but I was even taking a defiant and malicious pleasure in using it.  I was Orestes, and I loved Pylades.