s were full of the houses
of the parents of the day-boys. These shops were in bounds, those out.
How often had he passed Dunwood House! He had once confused it with its
rival, Cedar View. Now he was to live there--perhaps for many years.
On the left of the entrance a large saffron drawing-room, full of cosy
corners and dumpy chairs: here the parents would be received. On the
right of the entrance a study, which he shared with Herbert: here
the boys would be caned--he hoped not often. In the hall a framed
certificate praising the drains, the bust of Hermes, and a carved
teak monkey holding out a salver. Some of the furniture had come from
Shelthorpe, some had been bought from Mr. Annison, some of it was new.
But throughout he recognized a certain decision of arrangement. Nothing
in the house was accidental, or there merely for its own sake. He
contrasted it with his room at Cambridge, which had been a jumble of
things that he loved dearly and of things that he did not love at all.
Now these also had come to Dunwood House, and had been distributed where
each was seemly--Sir Percival to the drawing-room, the photograph of
Stockholm to the passage, his chair, his inkpot, and the portrait of his
mother to the study. And then he contrasted it with the Ansells' house,
to which their resolute ill-taste had given unity. He was extremely
sensitive to the inside of a house, holding it an organism that
expressed the thoughts, conscious and subconscious, of its inmates.
He was equally sensitive to places. He would compare Cambridge with
Sawston, and either with a third type of existence, to which, for want
of a better name, he gave the name of "Wiltshire."

It must not be thought that he is going to waste his time. These
contrasts and comparisons never took him long, and he never indulged
in them until the serious business of the day was over. And, as time
passed, he never indulged in them at all. The school returned at the
end of January, before he had been settled in a week. His health
had improved, but not greatly, and he was nervous at the prospect of
confronting the assembled house. All day long cabs had been driving
up, full of boys in bowler hats too big for them; and Agnes had been
superintending the numbering of the said hats, and the placing of them
in cupboards, since they would not be wanted till the end of the term.
Each boy had, or should have had, a bag, so that he need not unpack his
box till the morrow, One boy had