This, however, was explained as soon as they were alone, and had to do with the seven pounds, which had burned holes in Mr Frampton's pockets ever since he received them, but which, not knowing Jeffreys' address, he had never been able to return.
"I was never more pained than when I received this money," said he.
"Your guardian was written to by the clerk in ordinary course, but I never imagined the bill would be passed on to you." Jeffreys had nothing for it but to take the money back, much as he disliked it.

Until he did so, Mr Frampton was too fidgety to be approachable on any other subject.
The morning after his arrival, they went up Wild Pike together--the first time Jeffreys had been on the mountain since the death of Julius.
They had a fine day and no difficulty; but the long talk which beguiled the way amply made up to Jeffreys for the lack of adventure.
Mr Frampton told him much about Bolsover, and of how it was at last beginning to thrive and recover from the dry-rot; how this winter the football team had got up a name for itself; how the school discussion society was crowded with members; how the cricket prospects were decidedly hopeful; and how two fellows had lately gained scholarships at Oxford.

Then he began to ask Jeffreys about himself, and got from him a full account of all that had befallen him since he left school.

Mr Frampton was a most sympathetic listener, and the poor "dog with a bad name," who had almost forgotten the art of speaking his mind fully to any one, warmed insensibly to this friend as they talked, and reproached himself for the pride and shortsightedness which had induced him to shut himself out so long from his friendship.
Then they talked of young Forrester.

Mr Frampton made no attempt to gloss over the wickedness of that unhappy act of passion.