"I say, Linton," he said, "--hullo, you look a wreck, don't you!--I
say, what's all this about your house?"

"What about my house?"

"Funking, and all that. Sheen, you know. Stanning has just been telling
me."

"Then he saw him, too!" exclaimed Linton, involuntarily.

"Oh, it's true, then? Did he really cut off like that? Stanning said he
did, but I wouldn't believe him at first. You aren't going? Good
night."

So the thing was out. Linton had not counted on Stanning having seen
what he and Dunstable had seen. It was impossible to hush it up now.
The scutcheon of Seymour's was definitely blotted. The name of the
house was being held up to scorn in Appleby's probably everywhere else
as well. It was a nuisance, thought Linton, but it could not be helped.
After all, it was a judgment on the house for harbouring such a
specimen as Sheen.

In Seymour's there was tumult and an impromptu indignation meeting.
Stanning had gone to work scientifically. From the moment that, ducking
under the guard of a sturdy town youth, he had caught sight of Sheen
retreating from the fray, he had grasped the fact that here,
ready-made, was his chance of working off his grudge against him. All
he had to do was to spread the news abroad, and the school would do the
rest. On his return from the town he had mentioned the facts of the
case to one or two of the more garrulous members of his house, and they