A COURSE
OF TREATMENTS
Of any kind whatever
At any time whatever.
Dakers had contributed a small untidy parcel, labelled: "To remind you every morning of our first meeting!" which on being opened proved to be one of those flat loofahs for back-scrubbing. It was surely in some other life that she had been peered at over the bathroom partition by that waggish pony's-face. It was certainly not this Lucy Pym who had sat in the bath.
The devoted Miss Morris had made her a little felt purse-Heaven alone knew when the child had found time to fabricate it-and at the other end of the scale of worldly magnificence was Beau's pigskin case, which bore the message: "You will have so many parting gifts that you will need something to put them in," and was stamped with her initials. Even Giddy, with whom she had spent odd half hours talking about rheumatism and rats, had sent up a plant in a pot. She had no idea what it was-it looked fleshy and faintly obscene-but was relieved that it was small. Travelling with a pot plant was not her idea of what was fitting.
Beau had come in between breakfast and Diploma-giving to help her pack, but all the serious packing was done. Whether anything would close once everything was in was another matter.
"I'll come back and sit on them for you before morning clinic," Beau said. "We are free until then. Except for clinic there is nothing much to do until we go home on Friday."
"You'll be sorry to finish at Leys?"
"Dreadfully. I've had a wonderful time. However, summer holidays are a great consolation."