She said that Sister had invited me to have tea with her. It was early yet, so I went into the Common Room and sat reading by the fire until four o’clock.

I had never been in Sister’s private sitting-room. The maid showed me where it was. Sister was still upstairs, so I looked round freely. The room was white, with a small bay window, and it was filled with the relics of some other house. The blue Nankin cups on the mantelpiece were the last remains of an old tea-set. There were flowers in a Victorian, ruby glass jug. Over the rosewood work-table hung two silhouettes; I was bending to look at these when Sister opened the door.

I think she was pleased to see my interest in her things. She told me about them and I listened quietly. Then, when the tray had been brought and I had admired her silver teapot and spoons, she turned to me, twinkling, and said, “You’re a funny boy: visiting cathedrals instead of coming back to school. Tell me why you did it and what happened to you.”

Her command disintegrated me. I smiled redly.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to come back to school much.” I could not say any more. I think she saw how uncomfortable I was.

“Which cathedral do you like best?” I asked in a strangled voice, trying hard to be natural.

“Winchester, I think,” she said promptly. “I love Norman Architecture. Do you know Romsey Abbey?”

I felt safe. I could discuss architecture all afternoon, but I could not tell her one reason why I ran away from school.

The Common Room seemed cold and lonely after I had left her, but I did not have to wait there long, Nurse Robins came and told me to go to bed. She never seemed to talk for pleasure.

The next day I felt sure that I would be sent back to the House. I had not really been ill; only worried and tired. I looked out of the window and hoped that the doctor would be late. I could not go back before he had seen me. Outside it was fine and windy. Over the stiffly moving privet hedge I saw boys with books under their arms, holding their straw hats tightly to their heads.

While I was still standing there the doctor’s car drove up. I heard him talking to Sister in the corridor, and I waited, uncomfortable inside with anxiety. He came in alone, wearing his strange smile as usual. He brought a smell of tobacco, and perhaps beer, with him.

“Well, how are you?” he asked. He held a stethoscope in his hands. “Pull up your shirt, I want to try this.”

I unbuttoned my braces and dragged my shirt up. He moved the cold feeler about on my chest, then he gave my stomach a little slap and said, “That’ll do.” His hand felt hard against that part of me which had always worn clothes. I pulled down my crumpled shirt and tried to tuck it in again but could not, so had to undo my fly. He watched me until I felt embarrassed, then he gave a deep, chuckling laugh and went out.

I heard his footsteps growing fainter, then the slam of the front door and the tyres on the gravel. Sister came in.