‘Good heavens, no!’ she said, horrified. ‘Two. Two’s ample. Here … I’ll give it to him. I want to thank him.’

Mr Cross’s young man was waiting downstairs, looking pleasant but thinking condescendingly that he never saw such a poor turn out in his life, and yet the young lady seemed to be a young lady all right. Artists, p’raps.

‘Thank you very much,’ said Sophia, slipping him the two bob. ‘You’ve been a great help, and it was very interesting hearing about Russia.’

For Russia, like a song in a minor key, was still droning at the back of her mind.

Mr Cross’s young man thanked her, and backed his van away with some difficulty. She had a pleasant sensation, with his departure, that she, and Francis and Harry, were now even more on their own.

Harry arrived, as usual, in a taxi; taxis seemed to accompany him as naturally as their shells accompany snails. Out of this taxi he brought his two suitcases, two long rolls of stiff cloth that looked like rugs, and a large bunch of dark red carnations in tissue paper. Sophia and Francis were on the stairs, fixing the meat safe on to a shelf on the wall; they came down to meet him, smiling and excited, and he gave Sophia the flowers with a kiss.

‘Harry, how lovely! Thank you, darling. Look, isn’t it all nice? We only got here at half past two and we’re nearly straight. What are those? Rugs?’

‘I bought them from an Arab chap who was selling them in the West End,’ said Harry, proudly unrolling the thin silky gaudy mats. ‘They’re my contribution to the house, and so is this.’

Sophia stared at the pack of clean green notes he held out. She had never seen so much money in her life.

‘My dear, however much is there there? Where did you get it?’

‘It’s only fourteen quid. Old Marriot gave me thirty-five out of the sale money and the practice, and said it ought to last for a good bit. So I’m keeping twenty-one, and the rest’s for you and the house. He wanted to send it to me every week, but I said I’d have the first lot in a lump; it would be more useful. He didn’t want me to have it. I had quite a job to make him hand it over. My god, he’s an old screw, if you like.’

‘That’s fourteen … and I’ve got twenty in the Post Office and three a week, and Francis will have one a week and you’ve got twenty-five and if you get a job you’ll get much more. I really think we’ll be able to manage, don’t you?

‘Of course we shall. I can always go to old Marriot if I want a bit extra, and later on there’ll be the three thousand from the practice. Oh, we’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

‘I’d better give you half my pound, hadn’t I?’ suggested Francis, who had been thinking things over while he frowningly tuned his ukulele. ‘Would that pay for my food and things?’