Towards the end of the term two or three boys caught scarlet fever, and there was much talk of sending them all home in order to escape an epidemic; but the sufferers were isolated, and since no more were attacked it was supposed that the outbreak was stopped.  One of the stricken was Philip.  He remained in hospital through the Easter holidays, and at the beginning of the summer term was sent home to the vicarage to get a little fresh air.  The Vicar, notwithstanding medical assurance that the boy was no longer infectious, received him with suspicion; he thought it very inconsiderate of the doctor to suggest that his nephew’s convalescence should be spent by the seaside, and consented to have him in the house only because there was nowhere else he could go.

Philip went back to school at half-term.  He had forgotten the quarrels he had had with Rose, but remembered only that he was his greatest friend.  He knew that he had been silly.  He made up his mind to be more reasonable.  During his illness Rose had sent him in a couple of little notes, and he had ended each with the words:  “Hurry up and come back.”  Philip thought Rose must be looking forward as much to his return as he was himself to seeing Rose.

He found that owing to the death from scarlet fever of one of the boys in the Sixth there had been some shifting in the studies and Rose was no longer in his.  It was a bitter disappointment.  But as soon as he arrived he burst into Rose’s study.  Rose was sitting at his desk, working with a boy called Hunter, and turned round crossly as Philip came in.

“Who the devil’s that?” he cried.  And then, seeing Philip:  “Oh, it’s you.”

Philip stopped in embarrassment.

“I thought I’d come in and see how you were.”

“We were just working.”

Hunter broke into the conversation.

“When did you get back?”

“Five minutes ago.”

They sat and looked at him as though he was disturbing them.  They evidently expected him to go quickly.  Philip reddened.

“I’ll be off.  You might look in when you’ve done,” he said to Rose.

“All right.”

Philip closed the door behind him and limped back to his own study.  He felt frightfully hurt.  Rose, far from seeming glad to see him, had looked almost put out.  They might never have been more than acquaintances.  Though he waited in his study, not leaving it for a moment in case just then Rose should come, his friend never appeared; and next morning when he went in to prayers he saw Rose and Hunter singing along arm in arm.  What he could not see for himself others told him.  He had forgotten that three months is a long time in a schoolboy’s life, and though he had passed them in solitude Rose had lived in the world.  Hunter had stepped into the vacant place.  Philip found that Rose was quietly avoiding him.  But he was not the boy to accept a situation without putting it into words; he waited till he was sure Rose was alone in his study and went in.