“You’re shying about,” said Lord Robert. “What’s the real trouble?”

“One of my cheques has been returned R/D. I’m bust.”

“I paid your Oxford debts and started you off with five hundred as a yearly allowance. Are you telling me you’ve gone through five hundred since you came down?”

“I’m sorry,” said Donald. “Yes.”

“Your mother gives you four pounds a week, don’t she?”

“Yes.”

Lord Robert suddenly whisked out a notebook.

“How much was this returned cheque?”

“Fifty quid. Awful, isn’t it?” He glanced at his uncle’s profile and saw that his lips were pursed in a soundless whistle. Donald decided that it was not as bad as he had feared and said more hopefully: ‘Isn’t it a bore?”

Lord Robert, his pencil poised, said: ‘Who was it made out to?”

“To Wits — Withers — everyone calls him Wits. You see, I had a side bet with him.”

Lord Robert wrote, turned, and looked over his spectacles at his nephew.

“I’ll send Withers a cheque tonight,” he said.

“Thank you so much, Uncle Bunch.”

“What’s the address?”

“Shackleton House, Leatherhead. He’s got a flat in town but the Leatherhead address is all right.”

“Any other debts?”

“One or two shops. They seem to be getting rather testy about it. And a restaurant or two.”

“Here we are,” said Lord Robert abruptly.

The taxi drew up outside the house he shared with his sister. They got out. Lord Robert paid and tipped the driver.

“How’s the lumbago?” he asked.

“Not too bad, m’lord, thank you, m’lord.”

“Good. ’Evening to you.”

“Good evening, m’lord.”

They entered the house in silence. Lord Robert said over his shoulder: “Come to my room.”

He led the way, a small, comic, but somehow a rather resolute figure. Donald followed him into an old-fashioned study. Lord Robert sat at his desk and wrote a cheque with finicky movements of his fat hands. He blotted it meticulously and swung round in his chair to face his nephew.

“You still of the same mind about this doctoring?” he asked.

“Well, that’s the big idea,” said Donald.

“Passed some examinations for it, didn’t you?”

“Medical prelim,” said Donald easily. “Yes, I’ve got that.”

“Before you were sent down for losing your mother’s money. And mine.”

Donald was silent.

“I’ll get you out of this mess on one condition. I don’t know the way you set about working for a medical degree. Our family’s been in the diplomatic for a good many generations. High time we did something else, I dare say. You’ll start work at Edinburgh as soon as they’ll have you. If that’s not at once I’ll get a coach and you’ll go to Archery and work there. I’ll show you as much as the usual medical student gets and I’ll advise your mother to give you no more. That’s all.”

“Edinburgh! Archery!” Donald’s voice was shrill with dismay. “But I don’t want to go to Edinburgh for my training. I want to go to Thomas’s.”

“You’re better away from London. There’s one other thing I must absolutely insist upon, Donald. You are to drop this feller Withers.”

“Why should I?”

“Because the feller’s a bad ’un. I know something about him. I have never interfered in the matter of your friendships before, but I’d be neglectin’ my duty like anything if I didn’t step in here.”

“I won’t give up a friend simply because you choose to say he’s no good.”

“I give you my word of honour this man’s a rotter — a criminal rotter. I was amazed when I recognized Withers this afternoon. My information dates from my Foreign Office days. It’s unimpeachable. Very bad record. Come now, be sensible. Make a clean break and forget all about him. Archery’s a nice old house. Your mother can use it as a pied-à-terre and see you sometimes. It’s only ten miles out of Edinburgh.”

“But—”

“Afraid it’s definite.”

“But — I don’t want to leave London. I don’t want to muck about with a lot of earnest Scots from God knows where. I mean the sort of people who go there are just simply The End!”

“Why?” asked Lord Robert.

“Well, because, I mean, you know what I mean. They’ll be the most unspeakable curiosities. No doubt perfectly splendid but—”

“But not in the same class with young men who contract debts of honour which they cannot meet and do the London season on their mother’s money?”

“That’s not fair,” cried Donald hotly.

“Why?” repeated Lord Robert.

“I’ll bet you got into the same sort of jams when you were my age.”

“You’re wrong,” said Lord Robert mildly. “I did as many silly things as most young men of my day. But I did not contract debts that I was unable to settle. It seemed to me that sort ofthing amounted to theft. I didn’t steal clothes from my tailor, drink from my hotel, or money from my friends.”

“But I knew it would be all right in the end.”

“You mean, you knew I’d pay?”

“I’m not ungrateful,” said Donald angrily.

“My dear fellow, I don’t want you to be grateful.”

“But I won’t go and stay in a deserted mausoleum of a Scotch house in the middle of the season. There’s — there’s Bridget.”

“Lady Carrados’s gel? Is she fond of you?”

“Yes.”

“She seems a nice creature. You’re fortunate. Not one of these screeching rattles. She’ll wait for you.”

“I won’t go.”

“M’dear boy, I’m sorry, but you’ve no alternative.”

Donald’s face was white but two scarlet patches burned on his cheek-bones. His lips trembled. Suddenly he burst out violently.

“You can keep your filthy money,” he shouted. “By God, I’ll look after myself. I’ll borrow from someone who’s not a bloody complacent Edwardian relic and I’ll get a job and pay them back as I can.”

“Jobs aren’t to be had for the asking. Come now—”

“Oh, shut up!” bawled Donald and flung out of the room.

Lord Robert stared at the door which his nephew had not neglected to slam. The room was very quiet. The fire settled down with a small whisper of ashes and Lord Robert’s clock ticked on the mantelpiece. It ticked very loudly. The plump figure, only half-lit by the lamp on the desk, was quite still, the head resting on the hand. Lord Robert sighed, a slight mournful sound. At last he pulled an envelope towards him and in his finicky writing addressed it to Captain Withers, Shackleton House, Leatherhead. Then he wrote a short note, folded a cheque into it and put them both in the envelope. He rang for his butler.

“Has Mr Donald gone out?”

“Yes, m’lord. He said he would not be returning.”

“I see,” said Lord Robert. “Thank you. Will you see that this letter is posted immediately?”

Lord Robert had sat on the blue sofa since two-fifteen but he was not tired of it. He enjoyed watching the patrons of music arriving and he amused himself with idle speculations on the subject of intellectual snobbishness. He also explored the blue sofa, sliding his hands cautiously over the surface of the seat and down between the seat and the arms. He had taken the precaution of leaving his gloves on a chair on the left of the sofa and a little behind it. A number of people came and spoke to him, among them Lady Carrados, who was looking tired.

“You’re overdoing it, Evelyn,” he told her. “You look charming — that’s a delightful gown, ain’t it? — but you’re too fragile, m’dear.”

“I’m all right, Bunchy,” she said. “You’ve got a nice way of telling a woman she’s getting older.”

“No, I say! It wasn’t that. Matter of fact it rather suits you bein’ so fine-drawn, but you are too thin, you know. Where’s Bridgie?”

“At a matinée.”

“Evelyn, do you know if she sees anything of my nephew?”

“Donald Potter? Yes. We’ve heard all about it, Bunchy.”

“He’s written to his mother who no doubt is giving him money. I suppose you know he’s sharing rooms with some other feller?”