‘Now, he,’ said Mr Culpeper, ‘sounds the perfect candidate for what is known in Wandford as Old Bogey’s Brass. In 1852 a prosperous farmer at Catermarsh, named John Bogey, founded a scholarship open to any boy of Catermarsh, Renham or Walwyk – candidates to be taken in that order – who wished to go to Wandford Grammar School, where John Bogey, had himself been educated. I don’t think there has been a candidate for it for the last eighteen or twenty years; the people it was meant to benefit – the ambitious poor – don’t take readily to the idea of a boarding school; and there are nowadays so many alternatives. Unless this lad you mention is demonstrably certifiable, the scholarship is his the moment he applies for it. In fact, the trustees were considering the possibility of converting the funds to other uses. They’d be delighted to have a candidate. May I send you the papers?’

They arrived on Friday morning in a long foolscap envelope. After tea, on that afternoon, Miss Mayfield went to call upon Mrs Baines, filled with something of the excited feeling which is the result of having been able to present to somebody exactly the thing desired. Nine days before, Mrs Baines had expressed two wishes, that Sydney should recover from his illness and that the family should be able to move from Walwyk. Sydney had recovered; and here was Miss Mayfield bringing the glad tidings that the move would not ruin – but, rather, improve – Sydney’s educational prospects. She thought that this would be a very happy visit.

It went wrong from the very beginning. Mrs Baines opened the workroom door, and Miss Mayfield was shocked by her appearance. She had heard that Mrs Baines had looked dreadful upon her return from Wandford, but that was almost a week ago; and she still looked dreadful in the way peculiar to big, strongly built women who lose their flesh. She was as neat as ever, in a bright red-and-white patterned dress, with a string of red beads and matching earrings, but she was hollow-cheeked and so fundamentally pale that the applied colour on her cheeks and lips stood out like a clown’s paint.

She said, in a cold, dull way, ‘Come in, Miss Mayfield,’ and ushered her through the workroom into the cheerful, bright sitting room.

‘I haven’t seen you since that dreadful afternoon,’ Miss Mayfield said. ‘It was a wonderful recovery, wasn’t it?’

‘I should have come and thanked you for helping me that day; I know that,’ Mrs Baines said in a voice the reverse of grateful.

‘I didn’t do anything.’ She produced the envelope. ‘I have made a discovery that I hope will please you. About Sydney, you remember?’

‘Oh, that! I’ve given up all thought of moving.’

‘I see. Well, all the same, I think that you might be interested in this.’ Miss Mayfield spread out the papers and explained the situation.