that Peter was her property. She patted me on the head, told me I would get over it all – and swept Peter off to London. All seemed lost.

“Well, I tried,” I thought. The next day a group of us were having tea in Lyons, because one of us, Mike, son of the Principal of Goldsmith’s College, being an inverted snob, insisted on wearing a flat cap and eating individual fruit pies while drinking rasberryade in Lyons. Suddenly, there was Peter!!

The nearer he had got to London with Peggy and the further from Oxford and me, the more he had thought that he was making a mistake. So when they arrived, he bravely told Peggy so. They spent a miserable night with Peter’s family, Peggy weeping on Joan’s shoulder most of it, and after tearful farewells Peggy went back to Yorkshire and soon to Arthur, and Peter came back to me.