"Your friend's jealous," laughed Cowan from the hall. Paul joined him,
slamming the door loudly as he went.

Neil heard Cowan's laughter and the sound of their steps as they climbed
the stairs. For several moments he stood motionless, staring at the
door. Then he shook his head, donned his jacket, and sat down again. Now
that it was done, he was intensely sorry. As for the quarrel with Cowan,
that troubled not at all; but an open breach with Paul was something new
and something which, just at this time especially, might work for ill.
Paul was already so far under Cowan's domination that anything tending
to foster their friendship was unfortunate. Neil was ashamed, too, of
his burst of temper, and the remainder of the evening passed
miserably enough.

When Paul returned he was cold and repellent, and answered Neil's
attempts at conversation in monosyllables. Neil, however, was glad to
find that Paul said nothing further about a change of quarters, and in
that fact found encouragement. After all, Paul would soon get over his
anger, he told himself; the two had been firm friends for three years,
and it would take something more than the present affair to
estrange them.

But as the days passed and Paul showed no disposition to make friends
again, Neil began to despair. He knew that Cowan was doing all in his
power to widen the breach and felt certain that left to himself Paul
would have forgotten his grievance long ago. Paul spent most of his time
in Cowan's room when at home, and Neil passed many dull hours. One thing
there was, however, which pleased him. Cowan's absence from the field
worked a difference from the first in Paul's playing, and the latter was
now evidently putting his heart into his work. He made such a good