Even his ignorance did
not handicap him for long. For Mr. Ricardo had kept his promise. He
taught well, and in those long afternoons in the hot boarding-house attic
Robert had raced over the lost ground. He did not always want to work.
He gazed out of the window, half his mind busy planning what he and Rufus
Cosgrave would do when they met at the corner of the street, but he could
not help understanding what was so obvious, and there were moments when
sheer interest swept him off his feet, and even Rufus was forgotten. He
took an audacious pleasure, too, in leaping suddenly over the heads of the
whole class to the first place. He did not always bother. He liked to
wait for some really teasing question, and then, when silence had become
hopeless, hold up his hand. Mr. Ricardo would look towards him,
apparently incredulous and satirical, but Robert could read the message
which the narrowed eyes twinkled at him.
"Of course you understand, Stonehouse."
And then he would answer and sweep the sullen class with a cool,
exasperating indifference as he sat down. For he did not want them any
more. He returned instinctive enmity with the scorn of a growing
confidence. It was rather fine to stand by yourself, especially when you
had one friend who thought you splendid whatever you did, who clung to
you, and whom you had to protect. When he walked arm in arm with Rufus
Cosgrave in the playground he trailed his coat insolently, and the
challenge was not once accepted.
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