Once they took Toby, but that evening had not been a success.

Juan and Belinha were not snobs, they did not know much about the English class system, and Toby’s manners were as pretty as they were unconventional, so they took her for granted and treated her as one of the family, but Toby was embarrassed and awed by the lavishness of the Morales’ appointments. She also disapproved of Francis staying up until three in the morning, and borrowing money from Harry to pay for drinks.

‘It isn’t right,’ said Toby obstinately and rather sullenly. ‘It’s soppy … you being an office boy all day and then chasin’ round like Lord Knows Who all night. Besides, you need your beauty sleep. You work so hard all day, dear, you need plenty of rest.’

For Toby, like Sophia, was burdened by a maternal instinct.

Francis saw the common sense of this remark, but he could not resist the delights offered by Juan. So far he had only seen the sordid side of dissipation. There was no attraction for him in playing cards until four in the morning with coarse fools, as his unhappy father had done, or in solitary drinking. But there was ecstasy in flying along in Juan’s car on an empty moonlit road at three in the morning, just drunk enough to be divinely careless, his head back and his senses swimming in streams of cool wind, and all the stars in heaven flying above him!

He borrowed money from Harry to buy a dinner jacket; one could not go to the Monastery and the Queen of Clubs unless one was properly dressed.

The car made a great difference to their lives.

‘I can’t think how we ever did without one,’ said Francis complacently.

‘God, no. It’s marvellous.’

Francis continued to take Toby out twice a week, and to enjoy her society and the sharp little bouquet of her personality, and he still loved her. He was not attracted by the girls he met at the roadhouses or at Juan’s parties. He always returned to Toby with a feeling of peace and pleasure. She was the bread-and-butter of his odd topsy-turvy life, and even at seventeen he knew that, if man does not live by bread alone, he is most ill-nourished without it.

Yet he would not allow Toby to influence him; nor would he promise to spend less and go to bed earlier.

‘I do my best with him. It’s no use,’ said Toby sadly to Sophia, one evening when they were washing-up in the tiny kitchen.

Toby had been to supper at the cottage, and was looking forward to a peaceful evening playing Old Maid and Snap! (two games at which she excelled) when Juan rang up to ask if Francis could come to The Judge’s House for an hour. He had a nice chap he wanted him to meet; and Francis, making excuses, had gone … just for an hour, he said.

There was a pause. Sophia was vigorously wiping the last two cherry teacups. The other four had been smashed in four collapses of the table leg.