Sophia hid her joy from Uncle Preston. She tried to sound sensible, grown-up and sober: and flew home to write an overflowing letter to Francis, telling him the exciting news.

None of the children ever found out what Uncle Preston told Mr Graby about Francis, though Francis, who took a morbid interest in other people’s opinions of him, made one or two attempts to find out.

Mr Graby told Uncle Preston that he would see Francis any morning at 11.0 o’clock, but a week went by after Francis left school, and still he did not go up for the interview. Harry had said to him, ‘A chap must look decent when he goes up about a job,’ and had persuaded him to postpone the interview until a superbly fitting new suit, ordered on tick from Harry’s tailor, should be ready.

Francis spent the time at Aunt Grace’s bright little house at Hendon, reading his Rider Haggard books, furiously stalking out on errands for Aunt Grace, and being icily polite to Angela when she tried to mend his shirts, which had already been adequately repaired by the matron at Northgate. Sometimes in the evenings he slipped out for a long walk over the Heath with Sophia; and they would call for Celia, get the key of the cottage, and make an exploration of their future home, planning where they would put things and soberly revelling in the cottage’s charms, and deciding what furniture they would keep and which should be stored.

Uncle Preston twice rang up to ask frantically why Francis had not been down to see Mr Graby? and each time Francis explained that he was waiting for the new suit and hat, and Uncle Preston rang off with a warning snort.

But at last both were ready; and on a bright morning, pursued by the irritating good wishes and facetious condolences of Aunt Grace and Angela, Francis went down into the City.

Graby, Bryant & Co., Ltd., 11 Pratt Street, Monument, E.C.

He went off in a mood of deadly and pompous seriousness. His hands were wet, and he felt a little sick. He had that type of sensuous nervousness upon which sights, smells and sounds strike like bewildering blows and, unlike Sophia, whom he much resembled, he could not relieve this pressure by getting it into words and on to paper. His upbringing and environment had conspired to make him precocious; his extreme youth showed itself only in this intense seriousness tinged with melodrama, his self-consciousness, and the awful importance which he attached to every moment and every trivial event of an ordinary day.

This was his first chance of a job. It was desperately important that he should impress Mr Graby, seem at ease and yet efficient, and get it. He, at sixteen and a half, was already out in the world, taking on the responsibilities of a man, while the chaps who would go back to Northgate after the half-term were kids. They were still wearing ready-made suits and vilely fitting school caps.