CHAPTER EIGHT.
TEMPEST TALKS TO ME LIKE A FATHER.
As I entered the hall, in which were already assembled most of my fellow "Sharpers," the first idea which occurred to me was that Low Heath was not such a big place after all.

I had expected to encounter the whole school, instead of some fifty boys of my own particular house, and it was a relief to me to find that, for the present at any rate, I was to blush before only a limited company.
The next thing that struck me was that these fellows evinced wonderfully little interest in my appearance; which, considering the active interest they had shown in me not long since, was quite a shock.

I had made up my mind to be howled at and laughed out of countenance.

Instead of which they contented themselves with a half-glance to see who the new- comer was, and then went on talking together as if nothing had happened.
The conceit was already sufficiently knocked out of me to enable me to take this indifference in good part.

Possibly when my name was called reference would be made to my exhibition, which would make a few of them look twice at me; but for the present I was glad to be left alone.
At first I could distinguish nobody; but in a little I caught sight of Tempest's head among the seniors of the house.