Quarrier, passing the corridor, turned an expressionless visage toward him, and passed on with a nod almost imperceptible.
"Quarrier!" he called, swept by a sudden impulse.
Quarrier halted and turned.
"Could you give me a moment--here in my room?
I won't detain you." The faint trace of surprise faded from Quarrier's face; he quietly retraced his steps, and, entering Siward's room, stood silently confronting its pallid tenant.
"Will you sit down a moment ?" Quarrier seated himself in the arm-chair by the window, and Siward found a chair opposite.
"Quarrier," said the younger man, turning a tensely miserable face on his visitor, "I want to ask you something.

I'll not mince matters.

You know that the Patroons have dropped me, and you know what for." "Yes, I know." "When I was called before the Board of Governors to explain the matter, if I could, you were sitting on that Board." "Yes." "I denied the charge, but refused to explain.

...

You remember ?" Quarrier nodded coldly.
"And I was dropped by the club!" A slight inclination of Quarrier's symmetrical head corroborated him.
"Now," said Siward, slowly and very distinctly, "I shall tell you unofficially what I refused to tell the other governors officially." And, as he began speaking, Quarrier's face flushed, then the features became immobile, set, and inert, and his eyes grew duller and duller, as though, under a smooth surface the soul inside of him was shrinking back into some dark corner, silent, watchful, suspicious, and perhaps defiant.
"Mr.Quarrier," said Siward quietly, "I did not take that girl to the Patroons Club--and you know it." Quarrier was all surface now; he had drawn away internally so far that even his eyes seemed to recede until they scarcely glimmered through the slits in his colourless mask.