‘Henrietta, you see, is very highly strung. Very highly strung indeed. Our doctor says—’

Miss Bulstrode nodded, with gentle reassurance, refraining from the caustic phrase she sometimes was tempted to utter.

‘Don’t you know, you idiot, that that is what every fool of a woman says about her child?’

She spoke with firm sympathy.

‘You need have no anxiety, Mrs Hope. Miss Rowan, a member of our staff, is a fully trained psychologist. You’ll be surprised, I’m sure, at the change you’ll find in Henrietta’ (Who’s a nice intelligent child, and far too good for you) ‘after a term or two here.’

‘Oh I know. You did wonders with the Lambeth child—absolutely wonders! So I am quite happy. And I—oh yes, I forgot. We’re going to the South of France in six weeks’ time. I thought I’d take Henrietta. It would make a little break for her.’

‘I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,’ said Miss Bulstrode, briskly and with a charming smile, as though she were granting a request instead of refusing one.

‘Oh! but—’ Mrs Hope’s weak petulant face wavered, showed temper. ‘Really, I must insist. After all, she’s my child.’

‘Exactly. But it’s my school,’ said Miss Bulstrode.

‘Surely I can take the child away from a school any time I like?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Miss Bulstrode. ‘You can. Of course you can. But then, I wouldn’t have her back.’

Mrs Hope was in a real temper now.

‘Considering the size of the fees I pay here—’

‘Exactly,’ said Miss Bulstrode. ‘You wanted my school for your daughter, didn’t you? But it’s take it as it is, or leave it. Like that very charming Balenciaga model you are wearing. It is Balenciaga, isn’t it? It is so delightful to meet a woman with real clothes sense.’

Her hand enveloped Mrs Hope’s, shook it, and imperceptibly guided her towards the door.

‘Don’t worry at all. Ah, here is Henrietta waiting for you.’ (She looked with approval at Henrietta, a nice well-balanced intelligent child if ever there was one, and who deserved a better mother.) ‘Margaret, take Henrietta Hope to Miss Johnson.’

Miss Bulstrode retired into her sitting-room and a few moments later was talking French.

‘But certainly, Excellence, your niece can study modern ballroom dancing. Most important socially. And languages, also, are most necessary.’

The next arrivals were prefaced by such a gust of expensive perfume as almost to knock Miss Bulstrode backwards.

‘Must pour a whole bottle of the stuff over herself every day,’ Miss Bulstrode noted mentally, as she greeted the exquisitely dressed dark-skinned woman.

‘Enchantée, Madame.’

Madame giggled very prettily.

The big bearded man in Oriental dress took Miss Bulstrode’s hand, bowed over it, and said in very good English, ‘I have the honour to bring to you the Princess Shaista.’

Miss Bulstrode knew all about her new pupil who had just come from a school in Switzerland, but was a little hazy as to who it was escorting her. Not the Emir himself, she decided, probably the Minister, or Chargé d’Affaires. As usual when in doubt, she used that useful title Excellence, and assured him that Princess Shaista would have the best of care.