‘I do in some ways, yes,’ said Eileen Rich. ‘I won’t pretend. I want more emphasis on getting girls that really matter.’

‘Ah,’ said Miss Bulstrode, ‘I see. It’s the snob element that you don’t like, is that it?’

‘Yes,’ said Eileen, ‘it seems to me to spoil things.’

‘What you don’t realize,’ said Miss Bulstrode, ‘is that to get the kind of girl you want you’ve got to have that snob element. It’s quite a small element really, you know. A few foreign royalties, a few great names and everybody, all the silly parents all over this country and other countries want their girls to come to Meadowbank. Fall over themselves to get their girl admitted to Meadowbank. What’s the result? An enormous waiting list, and I look at the girls and I see the girls and I choose! You get your pick, do you see? I choose my girls. I choose them very carefully, some for character, some for brains, some for pure academic intellect. Some because I think they haven’t had a chance but are capable of being made something of that’s worth while. You’re young, Eileen. You’re full of ideals—it’s the teaching that matters to you and the ethical side of it. Your vision’s quite right. It’s the girls that matter, but if you want to make a success of anything, you know, you’ve got to be a good tradesman as well. Ideas are like everything else. They’ve got to be marketed. We’ll have to do some pretty slick work in future to get Meadowbank going again. I’ll have to get my hooks into a few people, former pupils, bully them, plead with them, get them to send their daughters here. And then the others will come. You let me be up to my tricks, and then you shall have your way. Meadowbank will go on and it’ll be a fine school.’

‘It’ll be the finest school in England,’ said Eileen Rich enthusiastically.

‘Good,’ said Miss Bulstrode, ‘—and Eileen, I should go and get your hair properly cut and shaped. You don’t seem able to manage that bun. And now,’ she said, her voice changing, ‘I must go to Chaddy.’

She went in and came up to the bed. Miss Chadwick was lying very still and white. The blood had all gone from her face and she looked drained of life. A policeman with a notebook sat nearby and Miss Johnson sat on the other side of the bed. She looked at Miss Bulstrode and shook her head gently.

‘Hallo, Chaddy,’ said Miss Bulstrode. She took up the limp hand in hers. Miss Chadwick’s eyes opened.

‘I want to tell you,’ she said, ‘Eleanor—it was—it was me.’

‘Yes, dear, I know,’ said Miss Bulstrode.

‘Jealous,’ said Chaddy. ‘I wanted—’

‘I know,’ said Miss Bulstrode.

Tears rolled very slowly down Miss Chadwick’s cheeks. ‘It’s so awful…I didn’t mean—I don’t know how I came to do such a thing!’

‘Don’t think about it any more,’ said Miss Bulstrode.