‘I know … until I showed him what I thought about the way he treated Mother. (Oh damn! Now I suppose I’m going to cry again. I do nothing else. Have you got a hanky?) And then, of course, I wasn’t musical, which was another death blow to his hopes. (Oh damn! I’m sick of crying.)’

But she had to put down her knife and fork, and cry, all the same. Francis carefully put the saucer over her coffee, to keep it warm, and patted her hand sympathetically until she was better. Despite his grim and sarcastic air (‘very unpleasant in so young a boy. A most unfortunate manner’ as Uncle Preston said) he was very affectionate, sensitive and kind, and liked petting his sister, whom he dearly loved.

‘Thanks; I’m all right now,’ said Sophia, blowing her nose. ‘I shan’t go to Celia’s party. I shall ring up and tell her I’m going home to bed.’ She began again on her steak and chips. ‘Francis, what are you going to do now, darling? Shall you go back to school? Oh dear, there’s so much to do and arrange … I feel it will never get straight … Do you want to go back to school?’

‘No. I want to leave. I’ve been wanting to leave for two terms now. I feel so much older than all the other chaps—’

‘So I should think. You’ve had enough to make you.’

‘Helping to put your father to bed when he’s drunk makes you grow up. You know, Sophia, the one thing I dreaded, all the time I’ve been at Northgate, was that he’d come up to Founder’s Day or a match or something, drunk.

I used to go about in a blue funk on match days until everything was over and I knew he couldn’t come.’

‘Oh, darling – don’t. He wouldn’t have done that. He was pretty bad, but not so bad as that. He was proud of us, in a queer sort of way.’

‘I don’t know. You know Harry can’t save a penny of his salary, and spends it all on clothes. Well, that’s Father’s fault. You remember how he let Harry go up to Northgate so badly dressed, in his first term, that he was jeered at by all the chaps.’

‘Beasts, they must be,’ said Sophia, rubbing her eyes childishly with her fists and yawning.

‘No, they weren’t. They were just stupid, that’s all. They thought Harry’s patched trousers were funny, and I suppose it was funny – only we can’t be expected to see it. But he’s such a nice chap and so charming that they all got to like him after a bit, and forgot about his clothes.’

‘But Harry doesn’t forget, does he? Oh, Francis, the harm Father did! Twenty years of misery for seven or eight people, just because one man was a brute!’

‘All the same, I used to feel sorry for Father. He wasn’t happy in spite of all those women and dashing money about—’