The smile waned on Stephen’s face. Any allusion made to his father by a fellow or by a master put his calm to rout in a moment. He waited in timorous silence to hear what Heron might say next. Heron, however, nudged him expressively with his elbow and said:

―You’re a sly dog.

―Why so? said Stephen.

―You’d think butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, said Heron. But I’m afraid you’re a sly dog.

―Might I ask you what you are talking about? said Stephen urbanely.