"But you think it?"
Evan pressed him hotly.
"I don't think anything; and I don't care what anybody thinks of me, or what anybody knows!" cried Jan, not lying, but speaking as he had suddenly begun to feel.
"Then I don't know why on earth you came to me," said Evan scornfully.
"No more do I," muttered Jan; and out he went into the quad, and crossed it with a flaming face. But at the further side he turned. Evan's door was still open, as Jan had left it, but Evan had not come out.
Jan found him standing in the same attitude, with the book he had taken down, still unopened in his hand, and a troubled frown upon his face.
"What's the matter now?" asked Evan.
"I'm sorry—Devereux!"
"So am I."
"I might have known you wouldn't tell a soul."
"I think you might."
"And of course I don't want a soul to know. I thought I didn't care a minute ago. But I do care, more than enough."
"Well, no one shall hear from me. I give you my word about that."
"Thank you!"
Jan was holding out his hand.
"Oh, that's all right."
"Won't you shake hands?"
"Oh, with pleasure, if you like."
But the grip was all on one side.
