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removed his hat. The faces began animated discussions with one another. More faces appeared. Soon, most of the banister space on the third landing and some of the fourth was lined with faces of young ladies, all looking down at Julius as he looked up at them.
    ‘Mr Flynn, it is indeed an honour,’ Julius heardsomeone say in a Scottish Highland accent. Suddenly, all the faces disappeared and the babble ceased.
    Julius turned to see a tall, strikingly handsome woman of about forty. Her jet-black hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head. She was advancing towards Mr Flynn with an outstretched hand of welcome, but she stopped when she saw Julius.
    Her spectacles fell from her nose and hung on their gold chain across her large bosom as she stared in horror.
    Julius stared back in confusion.
    What the bloody hell have you done, Higgins?
    ‘Mr Flynn,’ said the woman, her face pretending to smile. ‘If you would be so kind as to come into my study, and bring the… ahem …young gentleman with you.’
    She marched away, with her head held as high as her neck could stretch.
    Julius looked to Mr Flynn for an answer, but he was still studying the tiles at his feet.
    ‘Yes, Mrs Trevelyan,’ he said, and fell into step behind her.
    When Mr Flynn and Julius stepped into Mrs Trevelyan’s study, she was standing to attention, holding the door and patting away an imagined irregularity in her hair. The room was an ornately decorated study and parlour. Paintings of regimental charges hung on the walls, interspersed with swordsand daggers. Two statuettes of horses stood on the mantel and a bronze reproduction the Dying Gaul had pride of place on her desk. The raised knee of the naked warrior was worn shiny. Julius imagined it was from decades of schoolgirls stroking it for luck while awaiting a telling off.
    ‘Please, take a seat, Mr Flynn,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.
    Mr Flynn sat obediently in one of the parlour chairs. Julius sat in another. Mrs Trevelyan lowered herself gracefully into a chair opposite them and adjusted the gold chain across her bosom until it hung just right.
    ‘As you know, Mr Flynn,’ she said, ‘you are always welcome here, always . But I must insist—’ She cast a glance towards Julius. ‘I must insist that no young gentlemen of a certain age accompany you in future. It may cause—how can I put it?—undue disturbances among my young ladies.’
    Mr Flynn looked at Julius. ‘Mrs Trevelyan, I can assure you that Master Higgins is a gentleman to his bootlaces. The soul of decorum and conduct and would never, er—’
    ‘I am sure you are correct, Mr Flynn. I have no doubt of your judgment in this matter. It is not the young gentleman’s conduct about which I am concerned.’
    ‘Oh, no?’ said Mr Flynn.
    ‘No,’ said Mrs Trevelyan. ‘It is just that, how can Iput it? My young ladies do not often leave the academy. They do not mix with young gentlemen of their own age. I have a duty to their parents and… ahem …guardians to see to their welfare and moral development. A well-presented young gentleman might—how shall I put it?—lead to agitation in my young ladies. I’m sure you understand, Mr Flynn.’
    ‘Oh, indeed I do, Mrs Trevelyan,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘Forgive me, I should have considered the matter before I brought young Julius.’
    ‘No apologies are necessary, Mr Flynn. I see that you appreciate my situation and will be guided accordingly in the future. Military men are always to be depended upon, I find.’
    ‘Oh, I’m not a military man, Mrs Trevelyan. I never had that honour,’ said Mr Flynn, in a suitably regretful tone.
    ‘No? You do surprise me. You have such a regimental bearing. I took you to be late of the Irish Fusiliers.’
    Mr Flynn’s face bloomed red again.
    ‘My late husband, as you know, Colonel Trevelyan, of the Cameron Highlanders,’ said Mrs Trevelyan, pointing to a portrait in a gold-leafed oval frame, ‘often said to me, “Bonnie, if you weren’t my