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it reminded her of Aunt Janet’s, where they had worked together in the garden. Perhaps Hester would allow gardening as her perquisite. Hope was flowering in her once more, with a sense of excitement, of elation, as she went into the little lobby and found the gardening utensils. ‘She can’t say that gardening and goldfish make him nervous,’ she thought. ‘His eyes are the same shape as hers, but not in the least the same colour; golden-brown at deepest: while hers are almost black.’

When she returned, drawing on her gardening-gloves, the basket on her arm, she saw that Captain Ingpen was leaning on the gate looking over at Robin, who, all unaware, was earnestly setting the plants in their pots upright around the edge of the basin. She saw him with no faltering in her elation. His presence had lost its element of fear. He had been only kind the other evening, and understanding. She was glad to see him, she knew that, even as she told herself that she must not ask him to stay to tea since Clive, to-day, might stop to see her. But she could ask him in for a little while and going to the gate she opened it, smiling at him and saying: ‘Come and help us, won’t you? We are making a home for our goldfish.’