He had to see the dean of the faculty later that morning, and he had been told that the students had made complaints about his teaching. He did not know whether it was really so – you could never be sure when that young fool who taught psychology was serious – but it was worrying. When he had begun working at the university, no one had ventured to comment on your efficiency. And now here was this grave and serious young woman, taking his time up when he wanted to be alone to compose himself. He said, ‘This is not something I should get involved in, you know.’ The girl frowned. ‘But you are Clare’s personal tutor, as well as mine. I thought I should come to you first.’ Harry Shadwell pondered the implications of that word ‘first’. Could he be accused of dereliction of duty, if she went to someone else after he had done nothing? Life was all very confusing, nowadays. This was another complication in it: one he could have well done without. As often when confronted with some human dilemma, he was confused.
