Well, after all, you're quite right; I only wish I was as good." "What a capital fellow he is," continued Montagu, leaning on his racquet and looking after him, as Russell left the court; "but I say, Williams, you're not going too, are you ?" "I think I must, I don't know half my lesson." "O no! don't go; there's Llewellyn; he'll take Russell's place, and we _must_ have the conquering game." Again Eric yielded; and when the clock struck he ran into school, hot, vexed with himself, and certain to break down, just as Russell strolled in, whispering, "I've had lots of time to get up the Horace, and know it pat." Still he clung to the little thistledown of hope that he should have plenty of time to cram it before the form were called up.

But another temptation awaited him.

No sooner was he seated than Graham whispered, "Williams, it's your turn to write out the Horace; I did last time, you know." Poor Eric.

He was reaping the fruits of his desire to keep up popularity, by never denying his complicity in the general cheating.
Everybody seemed to assume now that _he_ at any rate didn't think much of it, and he had never claimed his real right up to that time of asserting his innocence.

But this was a step further than he had ever gone before.