Alison wondered whether she ought to explain that by then she expected to have reached the head of the school, and that it would only be wasting Aunt Lydia ’s money if she were to go over a year’s ground a second time. But perhaps it would be better to leave that for discussion during future holidays. And, in any case, her aunt’s next words made it stingingly clear that none of her money was concerned.

‘It seems quite a sound school-educationally,’ she said a little disdainfully. ‘Anyway, it is expensive enough. However’-she shrugged-’your uncle says he is willing to pay the fees, so I suppose there is no more to be said.’

‘It-it’s very kind of him,’ murmured Alison unhappily, and thought how queer it was that her aunt spoke exactly as though Uncle Theodore and his decisions had nothing whatever to do with her.

‘Yes, it is kind of him,’ agreed Aunt Lydia, pressing her lips together. And she listened with cold detachment while Alison stammered out some message of thanks to be conveyed to the unknown Uncle Theodore.

But if Alison imagined that future holidays would yield an opportunity of more friendly discussion, she was entirely mistaken. Her future holidays were spent alone-at school.

After the loving interest that her parents had always taken in her, it came as a terrible shock to discover that her holidays, and how she spent them, were of less than no importance to the people who were now acting as her reluctant guardians.

It was useless for Miss Graham to talk of her aunt’s many calls on her time. Alison knew-and she knew that Miss Graham knew too-the plain fact was that she was entirely unwanted.

After that, she was not surprised that her eighteenth birthday brought no decision about her leaving school.

For nearly two years longer she had the humiliating experience of lingering in the top class, pretending that she was passionately anxious to put in extra study.

Miss Graham-who was perhaps more understanding than Alison supposed-eased things slightly by giving her small tasks in connection with the younger girls, supervising their homework and so on. It somehow implied that she was something in the nature of a student-teacher, and one or two of the staff treated her as though she were a little more than an ordinary scholar.

It soothed the humiliating smart a little. ‘But it’s awful,’ thought Alison, ‘being here without any sort of label. Everyone’s labelled in a school, and if you haven’t one it’s as though there’s something wrong with you. I’m not a pupil or a teacher or even a student-teacher, really.’

And then, because she had a certain sense of humour, even at her own expense, Alison thought with a rueful little grin, ‘Well, I suppose my label really is "The Permanent Poor Relation".’

But it hurt all the same.

Then, just as people were beginning to say, ‘Why, you’ll be twenty next birthday, won’t you, Alison?’ Aunt Lydia wrote to say that she had ‘better leave at the end of the present term, and come home here until we decide what it is best to do with you.’

Alison had an uncomfortable suspicion that, even then, it had taken a firm and tactful letter from Miss Graham to move her aunt.

However, this at least was a step forward-’a very serious step,’ as Miss Graham had said-and so something like relief as well as dread had gone with Alison on her long journey to London.

Now that she was here-looking round the crowded platform and feeling that she was the only person in the whole of King’s Cross who was not being met-she realised that the dread was distinctly getting the upper hand.

Of course, she knew her way about London from previous holidays, and she was quite capable of looking after herself; but it did seem a little callous of her aunt to have sent no one at all to meet her.

‘Taxi, miss?’ enquired a porter, whose solicitous air owed its origin partly to his hope of a tip and partly to the fact that even porters are sometimes sentimental creatures at heart, and he had noticed that Alison’s brown velvet hat and Alison’s brown velvet eyes were exactly the same shade.

‘Yes, please.’ It seemed the only thing to do, although she was very conscious of the small amount of money in her thin little purse.

He collected her shabby trunk from the luggage van, took her case, and found her a taxi. And Alison had no idea that it was the sweetness of her smile which made up for the smallness of her tip.

As she drove through the streets, she found her thoughts turning more and more to those happy far-off days when she used to come home to the delighted, affectionate greetings of her mother and father.

There seemed to be something so strange and melancholy about sitting all alone in a taxi, gazing out at the crowded streets, and trying to assure oneself that one was home from school for the last time.

Alison was uneasily aware of the fact that there was very little suggestion of ‘home’ about this particular return, and she sat on the extreme edge of the seat, her hands clasped nervously together, her eyes taking in the scene outside, but none of it really reaching her consciousness.

‘Of course, I am nothing to them,’ she told herself earnestly, trying to find excuses for the chilly absence of any greeting. ‘It would be silly to expect them to show delight at having me thrust on them.’

But her reason told her that there was a good deal of difference between ‘showing delight’ and ignoring someone altogether. And, by the time the taxi drew to a standstill, her heart was beginning to beat in heavy, uncomfortable thuds.

Her uncle and aunt had chosen to have their town house in one of the quieter and more dignified squares just behind Knightsbridge. Alison thought the solid exterior suggested Uncle Theodore’s bank balance rather than Aunt Lydia ’s beauty and elegance. But, the moment the door was opened, the glimpse of the hall beyond conjured up the picture of her aunt.

The servant seemed surprised at her appearance.

‘I’m Miss Earlston-Mrs. Lead burn’s niece,’ Alison explained. ‘I think she is expecting me.’

‘I don’t think Mrs. Leadburn expected you until Thursday, miss,’ the servant said. ‘But she is in, if you’d like to see her.’

‘What else did she expect me to do?’ thought Alison, coming into the hall. She felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. It was bad enough to have to present yourself before unfriendly relatives when they were expecting you. It was ten times worse when they were not.

She found she was gritting her teeth painfully hard as the maid showed her into a long, light room, with a respectful murmur of, ‘Miss Earlston has arrived, madam.’

‘Alison!’

Her aunt (looking not a day older than before) got up from a chair by the window and came forward.

‘But, my dear, I didn’t expect you until Thursday.’ Her frown was quite slight, but it somehow conveyed to Alison that she was extremely annoyed and put out. It was not an encouraging greeting from her nearest relation after two years’ silence.

‘Didn’t Miss Graham write to you?’ Alison asked timidly.

‘Oh, yes, she wrote to me.’ Aunt Lydia sounded faintly scornful. ‘These schoolmistresses seem to think one has nothing to do but read letters and write them in return. But I am sure she said you were coming on Thursday, not Tuesday.’

‘Oh,’ Alison felt very much like a chicken that had come out of its shell too soon and now didn’t know how to get back.

Her aunt turned away to a desk and ran through some papers, while Alison stood there wondering what she was expected to do or say. It wasn’t as though there were anywhere else she could go-not anywhere in the world. For a moment she felt panic-stricken.

‘Yes, here we are.’ Her aunt picked up a letter with an air of aggrieved triumph. ‘I knew I was right. Thursday.’ She held out the letter.

The typed lines suddenly blurred before Alison’s eyes.-She blinked quickly and managed to force back the tears. At nearly twenty, one didn’t weep openly.