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think she means?”
    George ponders this for a while. “Is it something sinful she means?”
    “And if it is, what might it be?”
    “My only sin, Father, is that I am hardly aware of her, though I know her to be part of God’s creation. I have not spoken to her more than twice, on occasions when she has mislaid objects. I have no reason to look at her.”
    “No reason at all, George?”
    “No reason at all, Father.”
    “Then I shall tell her she is a foolish and malicious girl who will be dismissed if she gives further grounds for complaint.”
    George is eager for his Latin verbs, and does not mind what becomes of Elizabeth Foster. Nor does he wonder if it is a sin not to mind what becomes of her.
    Arthur
    It was decided that Arthur would study medicine at Edinburgh University. He was responsible and hard-working; in time he would surely acquire the stolidity patients liked to trust. Arthur was agreeable to the idea, if suspicious about its origins. The Mam had first proposed medicine in a letter to Feldkirch, a letter sent within a month of Dr. Waller’s arrival into the household. Mere coincidence? Arthur hoped so; he did not care to imagine his future being discussed between his mother and this interloper. Even if he was, as people constantly reminded him, a qualified doctor and published poet. Even if his uncle was the dedicatee of
Vanity Fair.
    It also seemed a little too damned convenient that Waller was now offering to coach him for a scholarship. Arthur accepted with adolescent ill grace, which drew a private word from the Mam. Nowadays he towered over her, and her hair, which had already lost its fairness, was beginning to whiten where it was drawn back behind her ears; but her grey eyes and her quiet voice, and the moral authority implicit in them, remained as powerful as ever.
    Waller proved an excellent tutor. Together, they crammed the classics, aiming for the Grierson bursary: £40 a year for two years would be a great help to the household. When the letter came, and the household was united in acclamation, he felt it was his first real achievement, his first act of paying back his mother for her sacrifices over the years. There were handshakes and kisses all round; Lottie and Connie became absurdly sentimental and wept like the girls they were; and Arthur, in a spirit of magnanimity, resolved to lay aside his suspicions of Waller.
    A few days later, Arthur called at the University to claim his prize. He was received by a small, embarrassed official whose precise status was never made clear. It was all entirely regrettable. It was still unclear how it had happened. A clerical error of some kind. The Grierson bursary was open only to arts students. Arthur’s entry should never have been accepted. They would take steps in future, and so on.
    But there were other prizes and bursaries, Arthur pointed out—a whole list of them. Presumably they would give him one of those instead. Well, yes, that could be the case, in theory; indeed, the next bursary down on the list was available for medicals. Unfortunately, it had already been claimed. As, indeed, had all the others.
    “But this is daylight robbery,” Arthur shouted. “Daylight robbery!”
    Certainly it was unfortunate. Perhaps something could be done. And the following week it was. Arthur found himself awarded a solatium of £7, which had accumulated in some overlooked fund, and which the authorities graciously felt could be applied to his purpose.
    It was his first experience of rank injustice. When he had been beaten with the Tolley, it was rarely without some reasonable cause. When his father was taken away, it had struck a pain to his son’s heart, but he could not protest that his father was blameless; it had been a tragedy though not an injustice. But this—this! He had a case in law against the university, everyone agreed. He would sue them and reclaim the bursary. It took Dr. Waller to persuade him of the inadvisability of suing the