I'll go and have a few words with Yerkes." The boy let him go in silence--conscious on the one hand that he had himself played a mean part in their conversation, and on the other that Anderson, under this onset of sordid misfortune, was somehow more of a hero in his eyes, and no doubt in other people's, than ever.
On his way downstairs Anderson ran into Delaine, who was ascending with an armful of books and pamphlets.
"Oh, how do you do?
Had only just heard you were here.

May I have a word with you ?" Anderson remounted the stairs in silence, and the two men paused, seeing no one in sight, in the corridor beyond.
"I have just read the report of the inquest, and should like to offer you my sincere sympathy and congratulations on your very straightforward behaviour--" Anderson made a movement.

Delaine went on hurriedly-- "I should like also to thank you for having kept my name out of it." "There was no need to bring it in," said Anderson coldly.
"No of course not--of course not! I have also seen the news of your appointment.

I trust nothing will interfere with that." Anderson turned towards the stairs again.

He was conscious of a keen antipathy--the antipathy of tired nerves--to the speaker's mere aspect, his long hair, his too picturesque dress, the antique on his little finger, the effeminate stammer in his voice.
"Are you going to-day?
What train ?" he said, in a careless voice as he moved away.
Delaine drew back, made a curt reply, and the two men parted.
"Oh, he'll get over it; there will very likely be nothing to get over," Delaine reflected tartly, as he made his way to his room.