Flay scrambles to his feet. He is his master’s first servant. He is to lay out his master’s clothes and to prepare him for the Great Breakfast in honour of his only son. This is no time or place for the wretched youth to be in his Lordship’s bedroom. Nor for that matter need the Doctor stay.

With his hand on the wardrobe door he turns his head creakily. ‘I manage, Doctor,’ he says. His eyes move from Prunesquallor to Steerpike, and he draws back his lips in an expression of contempt and disgust.

The Doctor notices this expression, ‘Quite right. Quite, quite right! His Lordship will improve with every minute that passes, and there is no need for us any longer, most assuredly not, by all that’s tactful I should definitely think not, ha, ha, ha! Oh, dear me, no. Come along, Steerpike. Come along. And, by the way, what’s all that blood on your face? Are you playing at being a pirate or have you had a tiger in bed with you? Ha, ha, ha! But tell me afterwards, dear boy, tell me afterwards.’ And the Doctor proceeds to shepherd Steerpike out of the room.

But Steerpike dislikes being shepherded and ‘After you, Doctor,’ he says, and insists on Prunesquallor’s preceding him through the door. Before he closes it he turns and, speaking to the Earl in a confidential tone: ‘I will see that everything is in readiness,’ he says. ‘Leave it to me, your Lordship. I will see you later, Flay. Now then, Doctor, let us be on our way.’

The door closes.

THE TWINS AGAIN

The Aunts have been sitting opposite one another for well over an hour with hardly a movement. Surely only vanity could account for so long a scrutiny of a human face, and as it so happens it is Vanity and nothing but Vanity, for knowing that their features are identical and that they have administered the identical amount of powder and have spent the identical length of time in brushing their hair, they have no doubt at all that in scrutinizing one another they are virtually gazing at themselves. They are garbed in their best purple, a hue so violent as to give physical discomfort to any normally sensitive eye.

‘Now, Clarice,’ says Cora at last, ‘you turn your lovely head to the right, so that I can see what I look like from the side.’

‘Why?’ says Clarice. ‘Why should I?’

‘Why shouldn’t you? I’ve got a right to know.’

‘So have I, if it comes to that.’

‘Well, it will come to that, won’t it? Stupid!’

‘Yes, but …’

‘You do what I say and then I’ll do it for you.’

‘Then I’ll see what my profile’s like, won’t I?’

‘We both will, not just you.’

‘I said we both will.’

‘Well? What’s the matter, then?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’

‘Well, go on, then – turn your lovely head.’

‘Shall I do it now?’