“I’ll just freshen mine up,” I said. I went over to the sideboard and took out the soda syphon. The sideboard, like the chairs and table, was in what furniture shops termed Jacobean repro­duction with bulbous turned and fluted legs and a great deal of carved decoration on the front. The top was scratched and there were several white rings to mark the spots where people hadn’t bothered to use table mats. As I closed it I noticed that the paper lining the inside was stained and wrinkled. I thought of the dining-room of Harling Crescent with a sharp nostalgia; it was as if every moment spent in this room was a kind of be­trayal. There was a confused picture in my mind of my home being besieged, of the ugliness and untidiness of Mark’s house somehow invading it.

I took my drink to the table; as I sipped it the mood passed. After another drink the heavy bosses and curlicues of the back of my chair would cease to bore into my spine; or else I would follow Mark’s example and sit the other way round. And there was even some satisfaction, though not of a kind I was proud of, in comparing Mark’s home, and his life, with mine. But he didn’t look as if he knew I was more fortunate than he; a broad grin had appeared on his face, a grin of unmistakable self-satisfaction.

“What’s the joke?” I asked.

“Nothing, old boy. I was just thinking how odd life is.”

“You’re lucky it’s not a damned sight odder,” I said. “Lucy’s father has a very nasty temper.”

I offered him a cigarette. Mark shook his head. “No, thanks, old man. You know I prefer my own brand of poison.” He took out a cigarette and tapped it against his cigarette-case. It was one of the mannerisms, like his keeping his handkerchief in his sleeve, which I found intensely annoying. And the smell of his cigarette – like Susan, he always smoked Turkish – seemed un­bearably cloying.

“I’m surprised he didn’t beat you up,” I said.

Mark laughed. “Not him. He hinted he should get some com­pensation, though. Don’t ask me for what.”

“Did you give him anything?”

“My dear chap, I can’t give him what I haven’t got. It’s one of the advantages of being flat broke. Besides, what the devil should I pay him for? She’s over sixteen.”

“Only just,” I said.

He got up and opened the window. “Don’t remind me,” he said, his back to me. A cool breeze blew in the scent of lilac; he took a deep and noisy breath.

“That’s good,” he said, lost in the pleasure of the moment. “That’s very good. That makes the sap rise.”

“One of these days that sap of yours is going to rise too far,” I said.