his mother lived upon the fortunate proceeds of two marriages, after her adventurous discarding of Kit's father. The room and its furniture were as modern as Kit's unsentimental outlook upon life. The walls were blue, the furniture gold, the carpet apple green, the cushions and curtains black. It seemed to be full of bolsters and tuffets in gaudy colours. Kit had never seen anything like it. The sofa was so upholstered that it resembled the overblown and spreading petals of a flower.
It was a suggestive sofa.
"Oh,—it is all right—I suppose," he thought, "for a rather exciting half-hour. Makes one think of a highly stained microscopic slide."
He preferred things to look shabbier, less vocal with colour. He thought of the shabby old blue trousers his father had worn in the old days.
A car stopped outside the house, and Kit went to the window. It was his mother's car, and something in him grew rigid. He retreated to the other end of the room, as far as it was possible for him to get from the blue door, and he stood there with his hands in his pockets, his eyes curiously hard.
She burst in upon him. She had put on tortoiseshell spectacles, things Kit particularly detested. The mature and intellectual touch!
"My dear, well—here you are. I've been so busy. Congratulations. Now—sit down and tell me all about it."
He had remained at the far end of the room, looking very tall and stiff in his grey suit. It was a good suit. He looked well in it.
"Afraid I'm early."
"Not a bit. I've two girls coming to lunch. We have got half an hour. Now—sit down and tell me all about it."
She sat down on the voluptuous sofa.
"About—what?"
She was very animated.
"Why—about your wonderful exam. I hear you were third on the list."
"That's unofficial How did you know?"
"Your tutor told me."
"O," said Kit, and sat down on one of the flimsy gold chairs.
