I want to know what that woman said to you so as to know where I stand before I take a step.'

The Head said:

'I had to let the girls go. I don't mind saying that you are very valuable to me. The Governors--I had an express from Lord Boulnois--ordered them to be given a holiday to-morrow. It's very inconsistent. But that makes it all the...

She stopped. Valentine said to herself:

'By Jove, I don't know anything about men; but how little I know about women. What's she getting at?' She added:

'She's nervous. She must be wanting to do something she thinks I won't like!'

She said chivalrously:

'I don't believe anybody could have kept those girls in to-day. It's a thing one has no experience of. There's never been a day like this before.'

Out there in Piccadilly there would be seething mobs shoulder to shoulder: she had never seen the Nelson column stand out of a solid mass. They might roast oxen whole in the Strand: Whitechapel would be seething, enamelled iron advertisements looking down on millions of bowler hats. All sordid and immense London stretched out under her gaze. She felt herself of London as the grouse feels itself of the heather, and there she was in an emptied suburb looking at two pink carnations. Dyed probably: offering of Lord Boulnois to Miss Wanostrocht! You never saw a natural-grown carnation that shade!

She said:

'I'd be glad to know what that woman--Lady Macmaster--told you.'

Miss Wanostrocht looked down at her hands. She had the little-fingers hooked together, the hands back to back; it was a demoded gesture...Girton of 1897, Valentine thought. Indulged in by the thoughtfully blonde...Fair girl graduates the sympathetic comic papers of those days had called them. It pointed to a long sitting. Well, she, Valentine, was not going to brusque the issue!...French-derived expression that. But how would you put it otherwise?

Miss Wanostrocht said:

'I sat at the feet of your father!'

'You see!' Valentine said to herself. 'But she must then have gone to Oxford, not Newnham!' She could not remember whether there had been women's colleges at Oxford as early as 1895 or 1897. There must have been.

'The greatest Teacher...The greatest influence in the world,' Miss Wanostrocht said.

It was queer, Valentine thought: this woman had known all about her--at any rate all about her distinguished descent all the time she, Valentine, had been Physical Instructress at that Great Public School (Girls'). Yet except for an invariable courtesy such as she imagined Generals might show to non-commissioned officers, Miss Wanostrocht had hitherto taken no more notice of her than she might have taken of a superior parlourmaid. On the other hand she had let Valentine arrange her physical training exactly as she liked: without any interference.

'We used to hear,' Miss Wanostrocht, said, 'how he spoke Latin with you and your brother from the day of your births...He used to be regarded as eccentric, but how right!...Miss Hall says that you are the most remarkable Latinist she has ever so much as imagined.'

'It's not true,' Valentine said, 'I can't think in Latin. You cannot be a real Latinist unless you do that. He did of course.'

'It was the last thing you would think of him as doing,' the Head answered with a pale gleam of youth. 'He was such a thorough man of the world. So awake!'

'We ought to be a queer lot, my brother and I,' Valentine said. 'With such a father...And mother of course!' Miss Wanostrocht said:

'Oh...your mother...

And immediately Valentine conjured up the little, adoring female clique of Miss Wanostrocht's youth, all spying on her father and mother in their walks under the Oxford Sunday trees, the father so jaunty and awake, the mother so trailing, large, generous, unobservant. And all the little clique saying: If only he had us to look after him...She said with a little malice:

'You don't read my mother's novels, I suppose...It was she who did all my father's writing for him. He couldn't write, he was too impatient!'

Miss Wanostrocht exclaimed:

'Oh, you shouldn't say that!' with almost the pain of someone defending her own personal reputation.

'I don't see why I shouldn't,' Valentine said. 'He was the first person to say it about himself.'

'He shouldn't have said it either,' Miss Wanostrocht answered with a sort of soft unction.