‘We must plan, darling, we must plan! … No, just caviare, just plain caviare.’

There was this to be said for her: she was the real thing, though mal tournée, having stooped to the lure of mere academic distinction. As the real thing, she would not stay with him for long. They never do. Meanwhile, lunch was long drawn out, partly because everyone within earshot was immobilized by a natural desire to hear more about Miss Foale.

‘A collection of boots, did you say? Exactly what I should expect of her! Of all the dreary, wistful middle-class perversions, she would take up with boots.’ … ‘The Bishop told my uncle that nothing would induce him to go near another confirmation at Tittingham. She mewed at him all through the Address. Mewed, do I say? The Bishop said caterwauled. His chaplain had to beat her back from the vestry with the crosier. Sacrilege, of course—but necessity knows no law.’ … ‘And even then the woman was such a grovelling snob that she didn’t expel me!’ For Miss Tregurtha was one of those characters formed by the late headmistress to be her memorial. Preservation of ancient buildings, protection of bishops, humanitarian concern for the poor whores driven out of Anchor Yard—all Miss Tregurtha’s zealotries stemmed from a schoolgirl’s resentment. Even the B.Litt. was a retort to Miss Foale’s remark that our Dulcibella will never learn to spell. As for Opie Cottage, the pretext of this meeting, it was whirled 164away like the corkscrew that began the process of letting the Djinn out of the bottle.

Aubrey was not allowed to escape before she consulted her engagement book and discovered that in a fortnight’s time she would be free to come down to Tittingham for a couple of hours ‘to strike,’ she said, ‘our first blow.’ But a woman of fashion, thought he, can forget anything in a fortnight. For that matter, a man of the world can have fled the country by then.

It was two days later, and Aubrey was home again, and had lounged downstairs after breakfasting in bed, and was dividing his speculations between cold partridge for lunch and Corsica, when a familiar voice cascaded through the open window. A car stood before his door. Miss Tregurtha and a young woman got out, commenting—in the main with approval—on his hellebores.

If only he had stayed in bed! Second thoughts showed him this would have been no protection. There was nothing for it but to tell Hopkins to set lunch for three. They would be ravenous into the bargain, for they must have started at cockcrow.

Like an echo to his thought, Dulcibella swept in, exclaiming, ‘Cockcrow! We started positively at cockcrow. So sweet, so touching! All the little milk-carts. Don’t you think there is something extraordinarily appealing about people’s daily lives? I felt that we mustn’t let a moment slip, so I threw myself into the car with Krafft-Ebing. And here is Jeanie. She has got the Evil Eye.’