At the time I was the matron at one of the main resi-dential houses, and four of the girls were under my care. I knew they were brilliant students. One was an outstanding architect, another had a positive genius for mathematics—oh, the details don’t really matter. They all were sent down and disgraced, their studies cut off as with a knife. Several of the professors were greatly disturbed about the waste. They knew the decision of the President was both right and just, but they also knew the talents of these girls and were desperate to find a way of preventing them from being wasted.”

Naomi Smith broke off, as Jolly held the appetising cottage pie with its potato crust perfectly browned, in front of her. She helped herself but did not cease talking, so absorbed was she in what she was saying.

“One of the professors was—and still is—very wealthy. And the others were prepared to give private tutoring if the girls could be cared for nearby. All the girls were scholarship undergraduates, none had enough money without the government grant. And each leapt at the chance of going on with her studies. That’s how it began,” Namoi went on. “That was how the house of the fallen angels, as you call it, was founded. In a way it’s been a great social experiment and on the whole very successful. But I have a feeling—oh, I have more than a feeling, I know someone is trying to make it fail.”

She was now quite oblivious of Jolly and the dish of young carrots he was proffering, as she stared at Rollison as if challenging him to believe everything she told him: willing him to promise to help.

CHAPTER 3

A Promise From The Toff

ROLLISON flickered a glance at Jolly, who immediately began to serve their guest, while he looked very straightly into Naomi Smith’s eyes, feeling great warmth for her.

“On the strength of your feeling,” he said, “I will help if I can.”