As the last car drove away the Doctor and his daughters and Paul and Grimes walked up the drive together towards the Castle.

“Frankly the day has been rather a disappointment to me,” said the Doctor. “Nothing seemed to go quite right in spite of all our preparations.”

“And expense,” said Dingy.

“I am sorry, too, that Mr. Prendergast should have had that unfortunate disagreement with Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde’s coloured friend. In all the ten years during which we have worked together I have never known Mr. Prendergast so self-assertive. It was not becoming of him. Nor was it Philbrick’s place to join in. I was seriously alarmed. They seemed so angry, and all about some minor point of ecclesiastical architecture.”

“Mr. Cholmondley was very sensitive,” said Flossie.

“Yes, he seemed to think that Mr. Prendergast’s insistence on the late development of the rood-screen was in some way connected with colour-prejudice. I wonder why that was? To my mind it showed a very confused line of thought. Still, it would have been more seemly if Mr. Prendergast had let the matter drop, and what could Philbrick know of the matter?”

“Philbrick is not an ordinary butler,” said Dingy.

“No, indeed not,” said the Doctor. “I heartily deplore his jewellery.”

“I didn’t like Lady Circumference’s speech,” said Flossie. “Did you?”

“I did not,” said the Doctor, “nor, I think, did Mrs. Clutterbuck. I thought her reference to the Five Furlong race positively brutal. I was glad Clutterbuck had done so well in the jumping yesterday.”

“She rather wanders from the point, doesn’t she?” said Dingy. “All that about hunting, I mean.”

“I don’t think Lady Circumference is conscious of any definite divisions in the various branches of sport. I have often observed in women of her type a tendency to regard all athletics as inferior forms of foxhunting. It is not logical. Besides, she was nettled at some remark of Mr. Cholmondley’s about cruelty to animals. As you say, it was irrelevant and rather unfortunate. I also resented the references to the Liberal party. Mr. Clutterbuck has stood three times, you know. Taken as a whole, it was not a happy speech. I was quite glad when I saw her drive away.”

“What a pretty car Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde has got!” said Flossie, “but how ostentatious of her to bring a footman.”

“I can forgive the footman,” said Dingy, “but I can’t forgive Mr. Cholmondley. He asked me whether I had ever heard of a writer called Thomas Hardy.”

“He asked me to go to Reigate with him for the weekend,” said Flossie, “… in rather a sweet way, too.”

“Florence, I trust you refused?”

“Oh yes,” said Flossie sadly, “I refused.”

They went on up the drive in silence. Presently Dingy asked: “What are we going to do about those fireworks you insisted on buying? Everyone has gone away.”

“I don’t feel in a mood for fireworks,” said the Doctor. “Perhaps another time, but not now.”

Back in the Common Room, Paul and Grimes subsided moodily into the two easy-chairs. The fire, unattended since luncheon, had sunk to a handful of warm ashes.

“Well, old boy,” said Grimes, “so that’s over.”

“Yes,” said Paul.

“All the gay throng melted away?”

“Yes,” said Paul.

“Back to the daily round and cloistral calm?”

“Yes,” said Paul.

“As a beano,” said Grimes, “I have known better.”

“Yes,” said Paul.

“Lady C.’s hardly what you might call bonhomous.”

“Hardly.”

“Old Prendy made rather an ass of himself?”

“Yes.”

“Hullo, old boy! You sound a bit flat. Feeling the strain of the social vortex, a bit giddy after the gay wheel, eh?”

“I say, Grimes,” said Paul, “what d’you suppose the relationship is between Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde and that nigger?”

“Well, I don’t suppose she trots round with him just for the uplift of his conversation, do you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“In fact, I don’t mind diagnosing a simple case of good old sex.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m sure of it. Great Scott, what’s that noise?”

It was Mr. Prendergast.

“Prendy, old man,” said Grimes, “you’ve let down the morale of the Common Room a pretty good wallop.”

“Damn the Common Room!” said Mr. Prendergast. “What does the Common Room know about rood-screens?”

“That’s all right, old boy. We’re all friends here. What you say about rood-screens goes.”

“They’ll be questioning the efficacy of infant baptism next. The Church has never countenanced lay opinion on spiritual matters. Now if it were a question of food and drink,” said Mr. Prendergast, “if it were a question of drink⁠—But not infant baptism. Just drink.” And he sat down.

“A sad case, brother,” said Grimes, “truly a sad case. Prendy, do you realize that in two minutes the bell will go for Prep. and you’re on duty?”

“Ding, dong, dell! Pussy’s in the well.”

“Prendy, that’s irrelevant.”

“I know several songs about bells. Funeral bells, wedding bells, sacring bells, sheep-bells, fire-bells, doorbells, dumbbells and just plain bells.”

Paul and Grimes looked at each other sadly.

“It seems to me,” said Paul, “that one of us will have to take Prep. for him tonight.”

“No, no, old boy; that’ll be all right,” said Grimes. “You and I are off to Mrs. Roberts’. Prendy gives me a thirst.”

“But we can’t leave him like this.”

“He’ll be all right. The little beasts can’t make any more noise than they do usually.”

“You don’t think the old man will find him?”

“Not a chance.”

The bell rang. Mr. Prendergast jumped to his feet, straightened his wig and steadied himself gravely against the chimneypiece.

“There’s a good chap,” said Grimes gently. “Just you trot down the passage to the little boys and have a good nap.”

Singing quietly to himself, Mr. Prendergast sauntered down the passage.

“I hope he’s none the worse for this,” said Grimes. “You know, I feel quite fatherly towards old Prendy. He did give it to that blackamoor about Church architecture, bless him.”

Arm in arm they went down the main avenue towards the inn.

“Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde asked me to call on her in London,” said Paul.

“Did she? Well, just you go. I’ve never been much of a one for society and the smart set myself, but if you like that sort of thing, Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde is the goods all right. Never open a paper but there’s a photograph of her at some place or other.”

“Does she photograph well?” asked Paul. “I should rather think that she would.”

Grimes looked at him narrowly. “Fair to middling. Why the sudden interest?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just wondering.”

At Mrs. Roberts’ they found the Llanabba Silver Band chattering acrimoniously over the division of the spoils.

“All the afternoon the band I have led in ‘Men of Harlech’ and sacred music too look you and they will not give me a penny more than themselves whatever. The college gentleman whatever if it is right I ask,” said the stationmaster, “me with a sister-in-law to support too look you.”

“Now don’t bother, old boy,” said Grimes, “because, if you do, I’ll tell your pals about the extra pound you got out of the Doctor.”

The discussion was resumed in Welsh, but it was clear that the stationmaster was slowly giving way.

“That’s settled him all right. Take my tip, old boy: never get mixed up in a Welsh wrangle. It doesn’t end in blows, like an Irish one, but goes on forever. They’ll still be discussing that three pounds at the end of term; just you see.”

“Has Mr. Beste-Chetwynde been dead long?” asked Paul.

“I shouldn’t say so; why?”

“I was just wondering.”

They sat for some time smoking in silence.

“If Beste-Chetwynde is fifteen,” said Paul, “that doesn’t necessarily make her more than thirty-three, does it?”

“Old boy,” said Grimes, “you’re in love.”

“Nonsense!”

“Smitten?” said Grimes.

“No, no.”

“The tender passion?”

“No.”

“Cupid’s jolly little darts?”

“No.”

“Spring fancies, love’s young dream?”

“Nonsense!”

“Not even a quickening of the pulse?”

“No.”

“A sweet despair?”

“Certainly not.”

“A trembling hope?”

“No.”

“A frisson? a je ne sais quoi?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

“Liar!” said Grimes.

There was another long pause. “Grimes,” said Paul at length, “I wonder if you can be right?”

“Sure of it, old boy. Just you go in and win. Here’s to the happy pair! May all your troubles be little ones.”

In a state of mind totally new to him, Paul accompanied Grimes back to the Castle. Prep. was over. Mr. Prendergast was leaning against the fireplace with a contented smile on his face.

“Hullo, Prendy, old wineskin! How are things with you?”

“Admirable,” said Mr. Prendergast. “I have never known them better. I have just caned twenty-three boys.”