Prologue¹
SUMMER TERM
I
It was the opening day of the summer term at Meadowbank school. The late afternoon sun shonedown on the broad gravel² sweep in front of the house. The front door was flung hospitably³ wide,and just within it, admirably suited to its Georgian proportions, stood Miss Vansittart, every hair inplace, wearing an impeccably cut coat and skirt.
Some parents who knew no better had taken her for the great Miss Bulstrode herself, notknowing that it was Miss Bulstrode’s custom to retire to a kind of holy of holies to which only aselected and privileged few were taken.
To one side of Miss Vansittart, operating on a slightly different plane, was Miss Chadwick,comfortable, knowledgeable⁴, and so much a part of Meadowbank that it would have beenimpossible to imagine Meadowbank without her. It had never been without her. Miss Bulstrodeand Miss Chadwick had started Meadowbank school together. Miss Chadwick wore pince-nez,stooped, was dowdily⁵ dressed, amiably⁶ vague in speech, and happened to be a brilliantmathematician.
Various welcoming words and phrases, uttered graciously by Miss Vansittart, floated throughthe house.
“How do you do, Mrs. Arnold? Well, Lydia, did you enjoy your Hellenic cruise? What awonderful opportunity! Did you get some good photographs?
“Yes, Lady Garnett, Miss Bulstrode had your letter about the Art Classes and everything’s beenarranged.
“How are you, Mrs. Bird? … Well? I don’t think Miss Bulstrode will have time today to discussthe point. Miss Rowan is somewhere about if you’d like to talk to her about it?
“We’ve moved your bedroom, Pamela. You’re in the far wing by the apple tree….
“Yes, indeed, Lady Violet, the weather has been terrible so far this spring. Is this youryoungest? What is your name? Hector? What a nice aeroplane you have, Hector.
“Très heureuse de vous voir, Madame. Ah, je regrette, ce ne serait pas possible, cette après-midi. Mademoiselle Bulstrode est tellement occupée.
“Good afternoon, Professor. Have you been digging up some more interesting things?”

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