CHAPTER XXIX
CHIPS AND JAN
Anybody entering the room just then would have smelt bad blood between the fellow looking out of the window and the other fellow sitting on the edge of the bed. Jan's whole attitude was one of injury, and Chips looked thoroughly guilty of a grave offence against the laws of friendship. Even when Jan turned round it was with the glare which is the first skin over an Englishman's wound; only a hoarse solicitude of tone confessed the wound self-inflicted, and the visitor a bringer of balm hardly to be borne.
"I suppose you know what's happened, Chips?"
"I don't know much."
"Not that I'm—going?"
"That's about all."
"Isn't it enough, Chips?"
"No. I want to know why."
Jan's look grew searching.
"If Heriot told you so much"
"He didn't till I pressed him."
"Why should you have pressed him, Chips? What had you heard?"
"Only something they were saying in the Sixth Form Room; there's nothing really got about yet."
"You might tell me what they're saying! I—I don't want to be made out ever so much worse than I am."
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