Thomas smiled at his hostess. He had a tentative sidelong smile. “Yes,” he said, “that’s Ancreton. I expect you’d hate it, but you couldn’t help laughing.”

“As I’m not going, however—” Troy began with a rising sense of panic.

But Thomas continued unmoved. “And then, of course, there’s the family. Well! Papa and Millamant and Pauline and Panty to begin with. Are you at all keen on the emotions?”

“I haven’t an idea what you mean.”

“My family is very emotional. They feel everything most deeply. The funny thing about that,” said Thomas, “is that they really do feel deeply. They really are sensitive, only people are inclined to think nobody could really be as sensitive as they seem to be, so that’s hard luck on the family.” Thomas took off his spectacles and gazed at Troy with short-sighted innocence. “Except,” he added, “that they have the satisfaction of knowing that they are so much more sensitive than any one else. That’s a point that might interest you.”

“Mr Ancred,” Troy said patiently, “I am on leave because I’ve not been well—”

“Indeed! You look all right. What’s the matter with you?”

“A carbuncle,” said Troy angrily.

“Really?” said Thomas, clucking his tongue. “How sickening for you.”

“—and in consequence I’m not at the top of my form. A commission of the sort mentioned in your sister-in-law’s letter would take at least three weeks’ intensive work. The letter gives me a week.”

“How long is your leave?”

Troy bit her lips. “That’s not the point,” she said. “The point is—”

“I had a carbuncle once. You feel better if you keep on with your job. Less depressed. Mine,” said Thomas proudly, “was on my bottom. Now that is awkward.” He looked inquiringly at Troy, who by this time, according to her custom, was sitting on the hearth-rug. “Obviously,” Thomas continued, “yours—”