Lunch was a fairly quiet affair. A sandwich in my room while the boys listened to music on a small transistor radio, brought in covertly by Allen-Jones and concealed inside one of the school desks on the back row of the form room. Devine came in twice to complain; once about the music, the second time because of the number of boys eating in the form room, against School regulations and, more specifically, creating a risk of attracting vermin.

“’Raus, Maus,” said Allen-Jones as Dr. Devine made his exit.

Devine turned round sharply. Allen-Jones looked innocent—at least as innocent as a boy can look with half a sandwich in his mouth. Devine left, with a face like a sucked lemon.

“Just another day in Mauschwitz,” said Tayler. My Brodie Boys all burst out laughing. Behind the glass door, Devine paused for a moment, then walked on, with the air of a man deploying almost unbearable self-control.

The afternoon was wearisome, with Ms. Buckfast in residence. On several occasions I had to bite my tongue to avoid a pithy Latin phrase—I now suspect La Buckfast knows enough Latin to disapprove. As a result, I’m afraid the lessons may not have been quite as entertaining as they might have been. Silent reading, then a spelling test, and then some silent translation. La Buckfast seemed unmoved, however—I was rather hoping that she would get bored and leave early, but no. Ms. Buckfast has staying power.

Throughout the whole afternoon she watched and listened attentively, occasionally taking notes, or walking about the form room, checking the boys’ grammar. I have to say she was thorough. And she didn’t yawn once. I’m starting to think she may be a worthy adversary, after all.

At the end of the day she came to my desk, smiled at me, and said: “Thank you, Roy. That was most enjoyable.”

Given that we had spent most of the afternoon in silence, I rather doubted that, but there was a look in her eye that suggested she was far from dissatisfied.

She lingered at the window, looking out onto the Quad. Then she looked at me curiously.

“You don’t remember, do you, Roy?”

I gave her a look. “Is there something special that I ought to remember?”

She smiled. “Well, no, of course, there’s no reason you should. But I was once a Mulberry girl. We even spoke a couple of times. I got the impression—even then—that you didn’t approve of girls in the School.”

“A Mulberry girl?” I tried to recall why I would have spoken to her. Then it came back to me: probably because of the colour of her hair. Of course, she’d been rather more slender then, with the leggy, self-confident strut that seems to be the main attribute of the Mulberry girl abroad.

“You played the lead role in Antigone,” I said.

La Buckfast smiled. “That’s right,” she said.