The thought of having his footsteps perpetually dogged by an uncle four
years younger than himself, and manifestly a youth with a fine taste in
cheek, was not pleasant.

'Of course,' said his uncle. 'What did you think I was going to do?
Camp out on the platform?'

'What House are you in?'

'Leicester's.'

The worst had happened. The bitter cup was full, the iron neatly
inserted in Gethryn's soul. In his most pessimistic moments he had
never looked forward to the coming term so gloomily as he did now. His
uncle noted his lack of enthusiasm, and attributed it to anxiety on
behalf of himself.

'What's up?' he asked. 'Isn't Leicester's all right? Is Leicester a
beast?'

'No. He's a perfectly decent sort of man. It's a good enough House. At
least it will be this term. I was only thinking of something.'

'I see. Well, how do you get to the place?'

'Walk. It isn't far.'

'How far?'