"Yes, my candlesticks and chairs, that your mother lent you for your rooms at Balliol, look very well," his father agreed.
Guy led the way to the spare bedroom.
"No wonder you spent all your money," Mr. Hazlewood commented, surveying the four-post bed and the Jacobean furniture. "How on earth did you manage to afford all this luxury?"
"Oh, I picked it up somehow," said Guy, lightly. He had decided, on second thought, not to reveal the secret of the Rectory's loan.
When his father had rid himself of the dust from his journey, Guy introduced him proudly to his own room.
"Well, this is certainly quite a pleasant place," Mr. Hazlewood admitted. "If not too draughty with those two windows."
"You must scratch a motto on the pane with the diamond pencil," Guy suggested.
"My motto is hard work."
"Well, write that. Or at any rate put your initials and the date."
His father took up the pencil with that expression of superiority which Guy most hated, and scratched his name rather awkwardly on the glass.