"Of course I know Simon. I'm Sheila Parslow. I'm a boarder at Clare Park."
"Oh." The school for dodgers, Eleanor had called it. The place where no one had to learn the nine-times.
"I'm doing my best to have an affaire with Simon, but it's uphill work."
Brat did not know the correct rejoinder to this, but she did not need conversational encouragement.
"I have to do something to put some pep into life at Clare Park. You can't imagine the screaming boredom of it. You simply can't imagine. There is nothing, but I mean nothing, that you are forbidden to do. I once got so desperate I took off all my clothes and walked into Cedric's office-Cedric is our Leader, he doesn't like being called the Head, but that's what he is, of course-I walked in with nothing on, not a stitch, and all he said was: 'Have you ever thought of going on a diet, Sheila dear? Just took a look at me and said: 'Have you ever thought of going on a diet? and then went on with looking up Who's Who. He's always looking up Who's Who. You don't really stand much of a chance of fetching up at Clare Park unless your father is in Who's Who. Or your mother, of course. My father's not in it, but he has millions, my father, and that makes a very good substitute. Millions are a very good introduction, aren't they?"
Brat said that he supposed they were.
"I flapped Father's millions in front of Simon; Simon has a great respect for a good investment and I hoped it would weight my charms, so to speak; but he's a frightful snob, Simon, isn't he?"
"Is he?"
"Don't you know?"
"I've only met him to-day."