Harby stood in rather superb mastery, the woman cringing to him to tickle him as one tickles trout.

“I had come to explain why he was away this morning, sir. You will understand.”

She held out her hand. Harby took it and let it go, surprised and angry.

“Good morning,” she said, and she gave her gloved, seedy hand to Ursula. She was not ill-looking, and had a curious insinuating way, very distasteful yet effective.

“Good morning, Mr. Harby, and thank you.”

The figure in the grey costume and the purple hat was going across the school yard with a curious lingering walk. Ursula felt a strange pity for her, and revulsion from her.