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of your “comfort and reassurance”.’
    Tears started in Hero’s eyes.
    ‘Oh, my sweet, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. This business has just got me down. But, Hero, you would like us to be more than lovers, to be married, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, then, let’s tell him. Please. After all, I’m not a halfwit. I’m sure I could get some sort of a job. I might even degrade myself to writing novels.’
    ‘You sweet; let’s hope it needn’t be as bad as that. But be patient. I’m going away tomorrow, for two months. I’ve promised my mother. I’ll think it out by myself then. I can’t think when you’re so close to me. And in August I’ll write and tell –’
    ‘Hero, I love you. I leave it all to you. Don’t let’s waste any more time talking. They’ll be out of dinner soon.’
    So they turned to each other and kissed for a long time. Then Hero went in. And after a little Michael walked towards the thicket, hugging his pain and happiness to himself.
    It is two-fifteen p.m. The Rev. and Mrs. Vale are standing at the far gate, welcoming the first arrivals of the parents. Michael Evans, Esq., B.A., has just supervised the boys’ changing; sent this one to the matron for a clean pair of trousers, found the lost stocking of that one, adjured A. not to go out without his hat and B. not to carry that large duck’s egg in his pocket. He has also answered in ringing tones and the negative no less than fourteen separate and consecutive queries ‘need we wear sweaters, sir?’ All this has been done in the midst of a shindy like a rookery ten times amplified, for discipline is relaxed today, and the silence rules abandoned. As a matter of fact, Michael has noticed this uproar no more than a city-dweller notices the sounds of traffic. The preparatory schoolmaster soon learns the knack of retiring into a kind a soundproof shell: if he fails to learn it, he either takes to drink or goes crazy.
    Neat in their clean white shorts and bright blue blazers and stockings, the boys stream out on to the field. Those who are expecting their parents move off separately and with restraint towards the far gate. As each recognises father or mother, his pace quickens involuntarily for a step or two, then is controlled to a self-conscious sedateness. Only the very youngest ones run. Michael sees Griffin approaching him, with an exercise book and a large pistol. He is wearing a double-breasted grey flannel suit and looks murderous.
    ‘Who were you thinking of shooting?’
    ‘Can you believe it? That moron, Mouldy, put up one too many sets of hurdles?’
    ‘I can well believe it. Look out, here comes Gadsby. Let’s move off.’
    But Gadsby, borne along on a strong gale of whisky fumes, caught them up and held them in the doldrums of his conversation till they were rescued by Percy fussing up to Griffin with inquiries about the tape.
    Michael moved away with alacrity to where Tiverton was standing, looking very cool and dapper.
    ‘I see you’ve just escaped.’
    ‘Really that man makes me despair of my profession,’ exclaimed Michael.
    ‘Preparatory schoolmasters,’ announced Tiverton sententiously, ‘fall into two categories – the Old Contemptibles and the Young Objectionables. Gadsby and I are included in the former class, yourself and Wrench in the latter.’
    ‘This station will now close down,’ replied Michael rudely.
    ‘I say,’ he went on, ‘old Simmie’s had a wash and brush-up, hasn’t he?’ He pointed to where Sims, in a suspiciously creased brown suit of antique workmanship, was talking with a parent.
    ‘Yes, he’s brought out that suit for Sports Day every year since I can remember. His contribution to the universal gaiety.’
    Michael craned over the assembling heads to catch a glimpse of Hero. There she was, in a cluster of animated females and deferentially inclining males. A gust of unreasonable anger swept over Michael. He hated it, seeing her at home in a