“Tomorrow will do,” he said. His attention had begun to wander back to the papers before him. He had no desire to see the catalogue, he had seen school catalogues before and they were all alike, with pictures of singularly unattractive young females in hideous uniforms with bulgy legs being hearty and ungraceful at netball or lacrosse — Sabrina’s legs, he had noticed, did not bulge — pictures of aggressively plain and unnecessarily stalwart games mistresses gripping tennis racquets and grinning at the camera—pictures of bare, healthful dormitories which roused disquieting memories of his own far distant youth—and always a picture of the sanatorium, which gave him a chill just to look at it. So the poor little beggar was in for it again, was she? Well, that was what it was to be young, people did what was best for you. Skiing? She would break her neck. There ought to be something more peaceable, more restful, more halcyon, for the education of helpless virgins, than the things one saw in school catalogues. There ought to be— “What about a convent school?” he inquired out of the blue.

“We-ell, Alan—” Aunt Effie began doubtfully, trying to orient herself to a totally new idea.

“It sounds prettier,” he explained, to her further bewilderment. “Chapel bells, and—embroidery work,” he floundered.

“We-ell—” Aunt Effie repeated, rather dazed. “Of course there’s always the religious question, Alan—” She paused significantly, and tried to catch his eye.

“The what? Oh, I see. Well, it was only a suggestion.” He picked up his pen.

She made a desperate clutch at his mental coat-tails, dragging him back from oblivion.

“Then you think I’d better write to the Swiss school in the morning, Alan, and ask if they can take her?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so, if you think that’s the best.” His eyes were fastened to the printed page before him, his momentary concern for his daughter’s always problematical happiness no longer existed. One left such things to women, after all.

“And a letter to Mrs. Shenstone, about giving up this lease,” added Aunt Effie with satisfaction. “I’m sure if you knew everything, you’d agree with me that it is the only possible course—”

“Yes, yes, I’ve always trusted your judgment with regard to Sabrina,” he assured her hastily, not wanting to hear everything just now.

“Thank you, Alan, I must say you’re being very reasonable about it, and I know it’s upsetting to you, but I’ve had rather an upsetting time myself—”

“Yes, I’m sure you have. I’m sure of it,” he said soothingly.

“In fact, it would have been better, as it turns out, if we had never left London at all.”

“There I can’t agree with you,” he said flatly. “This summer has been of inestimable value to my work. Inestimable.”