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to utter sounds that he vaguely associates with his proper status and character. At heart, of course, he has not the slightest idea of what that character and status are; nor does he dare pause to ask, for fear of finding them changed out of recognition. Provided a room full of despondent people between eight and ten a.m. daily, he would settle down anywhere.’
    ‘We could introduce morning-prayers every day at eight-thirty,’ said Mrs Mallet.
    ‘An excellent idea,’ said the captain. ‘You will play the harmonium. Beaufort will always be late, and flushed, and, unseen by Mrs Finch, will wink at Florrie. Why, I am beginning to see a pattern already! Oh, joy, joy! But tell me, Beau, to what use shall we put Towzer? Something in the open-air, poor man, I presume?’
    ‘I thought something in the garden. A hideously neglected bed of roses grows outside his house: I am sure he loved them before his face became so corrugated. He needs a beard, of course.’
    ‘Very well. We’ll try Towzer, though I must say I am a little shy of tampering with country doctors. They are accustomed either to being extravagantly praised or savagely denounced. They lack the poise and laisser-aller of the Harley Street man: I mean, they are sensitive to people and circumstances, and they expect to fight against odds and suffer. Well, if he is not the father often, which he may well be, bring him along, my boy. And now, what about the nurse – that vague lady who so ruthlessly plays fast-and-loose with human names? Nurses are a very distinct type, in my experience; the present does not exist for them at all; though absolutely practical in their daily behaviour, their minds are entirely concentrated upon the future – that is to say, upon the day when they marry a doctor. This is why they become so terrifyingly real when, instead of becoming doctors’ wives, they become head-nurses: it is a frightful shock to the nervous system, com parable to a man setting out to walk to Cuba and after years of trudging finding himself in Siberia. Could this particular nurse not help Towzer in the garden? We could give her those old cord breeches of Jellicoe’s to wear and, if she’s a good girl, a small tractor. While Towzer chopsand clips, she can spray and syringe: it will be just like hospital. And who knows – after rubbing shoulders with Towzer in the open air for a few months, she may cause his disbudded instinct to burst forth again? Yes, we must insist on Towzer’s beard. Though lecherous, nurses are a nesting type – true cuckoos, one might say, in every respect, including monotony.’
    ‘What about their names, sir?’
    ‘Towzer may as well keep his, both as an adjunct to his beard and a foil to his inoffensiveness. So she, of course, will become Miss Tray – Miss Blanche Tray.’
    ‘You don’t think that old memories of class differences will keep them apart?’
    ‘If there is one good thing to be said of the medical profession it is that their promiscuousness makes class-distinction impossible. Left to themselves, they would breed a classless world in one generation.’
    ‘Then I shall try and bring both Tray and Towzer,’ said Beaufort, rising enthusiastically.
    ‘Don’t overdo yourself, darling,’ said Mrs Mallet.
    ‘No fear of that … I say, who is that murky, lurking, furtive figure lounging about in the park? This is the second time I’ve seen him.’
    ‘Ask him peremptorily what he wants,’ said the captain.
    Beaufort threw open the window, stepped on to the terrace and shouted in a bull-like voice: ‘What are you doing here! Don’t you know you’re trespassing?’
    A sheepish cry came back.
    ‘Something about looking for his uncle,’ said Beaufort.
    ‘Tell him his uncle won’t be back until the day after tomorrow,’ said the captain. ‘Suggest he come back then. After all, we may want him.’
    Beaufort obeyed. ‘I wonder if he’s a Paradise relation,’ he said, stepping in again and closing the