the rest of the class dissolved into snorts and giggles.

Theobold, red in the face, rushed through the move, just as thundering as ever.

“No, no, no!” the fencing master cried.

“What’s the difference anyway?” Theobold retorted. “Footwork doesn’t matter if you lose.”

“With form like that, I would be shocked if you won,” the fencing master said. “Beckerman, come here and demonstrate. As I call it: advance … retreat … advance … retreat … advance … lunge.”

Adam did as the fencing master said, trying not to grin at Theobold’s humiliation.

“Do you see?” the fencing master said, now addressing not just Theobold but the entire class. “Exactly like that.”

Adam couldn’t have wiped the grin off his face if he tried.

And when the fencing master divided the class into beginners and intermediates, he hesitated so long over Theobold that Henry was rather disappointed when Theobold was finally sent over to the intermediates.

While they put away the equipment, sweating and exhausted, Henry reminded his friends that they had an hour free after Havelock’s class.

“Yeah? Well, we’ve always got an hour free after second lesson,” Adam said.

“I’m going to visit Professor Stratford,” Henry said. “Want to come?”

“To the headmaster’s house? No, thanks,” Rohan said.

“Will Francesca be there?” Adam said, a very strange look on his face.

“She’s called Frankie,” Henry said. “And I’d expect so, but then, why does it matter, since we’re not allowed to visit girls?”

Adam turned crimson. “Just wondering,” he muttered.

“Do get over it,” Rohan said, rolling his eyes at Adam.

“Over what?” Henry wondered aloud, and then he understood. “Oh.”

“I’m coming with you,” Adam mumbled.

“Isn’t she fantastic?” Adam asked Henry as they crossed the quadrangle toward the headmaster’s house during their hour free. “When she struck Valmont with her glove and told him to—”

“I was there, Adam.”

“Oh. Right.”

Not a moment too soon, they reached the headmaster’s front door.

Henry rang the bell, and a maid opened the door and stared at them.

Henry thought that the headmaster probably didn’t have many students turn up at his front door.

“Er, hello,” Henry said. “We’re here to see Professor Stratford.”

The maid frowned. “Wot’s yer names?”

“Henry Grim and Adam Beckerman,” Henry said.

“Wait here,” the maid said, shutting the door with them still outside.

A moment later, the door opened.

“Professor Stratford will see you in his study,” she said, as if she rather wished the professor had declined to receive them. “This way.”

Henry and Adam followed the maid through a handsome sitting room with bright imported carpets and a merrily flickering fireplace. They followed her up a carpeted stair, through a wallpapered hallway, and into a book-strewn room where Professor Stratford promptly crushed Henry in a massive hug.

“Henry, m’boy!” the professor said. “It’s been ages!”

“Mmm ytmm,” Henry said, his face squashed against Professor Stratford’s waistcoat.

The professor let go.

“I said, ‘I missed you too,’ ” Henry said, straightening his uniform. “And it’s barely been a week.”

“A week too long, if you ask me,” Professor Stratford said. “Who’s your friend?”

“Adam Beckerman, sir,” Adam said shyly.

“Well, sit down, the both of you, and tell me everything,” the professor said with a grin.

“Did you know Valmont is here?” Henry blurted.

Professor Stratford suddenly went serious. “I did. Is he giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Henry said.

“Well, be sure you don’t get kicked out for ‘handling’ things,” Professor Stratford advised.

Henry smiled, relaxing. It was wonderful to see Professor Stratford again, and the remainder of their free hour wasn’t nearly enough time. Henry was sorry to say good-bye, but he promised to come back soon and to try and bring Rohan along.

“He’s a nice bloke, your Professor Stratford,” Adam said as they walked toward the dining hall in the darkening twilight. “Pity we didn’t get to see Frankie, though.”

“Oh, get over it, Adam,” Henry said.

“Yes, Rohan,” Adam said, grinning.

But Adam didn’t get over it. He stared longingly toward the High Table at supper, sighing.

“Fair Francesca,” Adam murmured over a forkful of peas, “the maiden of my heart.”

Henry and Rohan laughed, as Adam had just tipped the peas into his lap.

That night, Adam was even slower with his reading than usual.

“What’s the point?” he asked, throwing down his military history book in disgust. “It’s the weekend, anyhow.”

Through their door, Henry could hear the other boys horsing around in the common room.

The point, Henry knew, was to make it hurt less that the other boys kept away from them. With a sigh, he returned to his chart, though he’d memorized it long ago.

The noise outside their door grew louder.

Rohan poked his head out to see what was going on.

“Well?” Adam prompted.

“They’re