In the glow of this romantic discovery, I no longer thought Penny worth any anger or resentment, so I slipped my arm back into his.  He patted my hand with just such an action as an indulgent father would use in welcoming a sulky child who has returned for forgiveness.  After this we climbed the slope of the Beaten Track at a faster pace.  And then—­what an afternoon of strange moods and tense moments this was!—­I encountered on the other side of the road the surprised gaze of Radley.

It was a very awkward recognition, and I hope he felt half as uncomfortable as I did.  I pinched Penny’s arm and hurried him on quickly.

“Don’t push me,” he grumbled.  “The damage is done.  And it’s all your fault for leading me astray.  Radley’ll tell.  He never spares anyone; least of all, his pets, like you.  There’s one comfort; I can’t be whacked; I’m too old.  But you’ll get it, Rupert.  Salome’s already done several of the sixteen-year-olds.  Cheer up, Rupert!”

“Hang you, I don’t want your sympathy,” I retorted sullenly.  And as I said it, I passed through Kensingtowe’s gates to the punishment that awaited me within.

Sec.3

We were not summoned for judgment for several uneasy hours.  It was dreary, waiting.  About six o’clock I paid a lonesome visit to the swimming baths, and was glad to find them deserted.  Even Jerry Brisket, the professional instructor, was not in his little private room.  Jerry Brisket, that supreme swimmer, loomed as an heroic figure to me who fancied myself no common devotee of his art.  I had often thought that my ideal would be to build a private swimming bath and to employ Jerry at a salary of some thousands as my own particular coach.  But to-night, in spite of this lavish worship, I was relieved to find him absent.  I flung off my clothes and took a long, splashless dive into the shallow end.

Water was my favourite element, especially the clear, green water of the baths.  I loved to feel that it was covering every part of my body.  With my breast nearly touching the tiled bottom, I swam under water for a long spell.  And, moving down there, like a young eel, I compared this dip with that in the beautiful Fal of a year ago.  Certainly there was still pleasure, glorious pleasure, in complete submersion, but on that bejewelled day there was joy above as well as below the surface.  This evening all that awaited me, when I rose from the transparent water, was punishment and indignity.

“Hang it,” I said to myself.  “I think I’ll stay in the baths.  They can’t dive after me here.”

With the unreasonableness of guilt I stigmatised all those plotting my hurt as “they.”  I did not specialise individuals, possibly because Radley was one.  They were “they”—­a contemptible “they.”

“They are brutes,” I concluded, “and I don’t care a hang for any of them.”

Then, in the luxury of defiance, I swam my fastest and most furious racing-stroke, till my breath gave out with a gasp, my breast felt like bursting, and my heart beat heavily on my ribs.  So I lay supine upon the water, closed my eyes, and derived a surfeit of joy from this rest after fatigue.