“Nice and clean,” he said. “I like ’em clean. Come and have tea.”

“I’ve only just arrived,” said Troy, “but I’d love to.”

“I’ve got the Potters,” said Bunchy. “My sister and her boy. Wait a bit. I’ll fetch ’em.”

“Mildred and Donald?” asked Troy.

“Mildred and Donald. They live with me, you know, since poor Potter died. Donald’s just been sent down for some gambling scrape or other. Nice young scamp. No harm in him. Only don’t mention Oxford.”

“I’ll remember.”

“He’ll probably save you the trouble by talking about it himself. I like having young people about. Gay. Keeps one up to scratch. Can you see ’em anywhere? Mildred’s wearing a puce toque.”

“Not a toque, Bunchy,” said Troy. “There she is. It’s a very smart purple beret. She’s seen us. She’s coming.”

Lord Robert’s widowed sister came billowing through the crowd followed by her extremely good-looking son. She greeted Troy breathlessly but affectionately. Donald bowed, grinned and said: “We have been enjoying ourselves. Frightfully good!”

“Fat lot you know about it,” said Troy good-humouredly. “Mildred, Bunchy suggests tea.”

“I must say I should be glad of it,” said Lady Mildred Potter. “Looking at pictures is the most exhausting pastime, even when they are your pictures, dear.”

“There’s a restaurant down below,” squeaked Lord Robert. “Follow me.”

They worked their way through the crowd and downstairs. Donald who was separated from them by several strangers, shouted: “I say, Troy, did you hear I was sent down?” This had the effect of drawing everyone’s attention first to himself and then to Troy.

“Yes, I did,” said Troy severely.

“Wasn’t it awful?” continued Donald, coming alongside and speaking more quietly. “Uncle Bunch is furious and says I’m no longer The Heir. It’s not true, of course. He’s leaving me a princely fortune, aren’t you, Uncle Bunch, my dear?”