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name. Was she very old when she died? Did you ever see her?’

‘I? See her? How could I? She was mother’s great-aunt and died before I was born,’ said Norah.

So the key was in her hand and heavy was its weight. If only he had said nothing, nothing at all, she thought, as she walked along the darkened lanes, there might still have been a loophole; but not now. One did not lie like that without a reason.

It was dark when she reached home. The curtains had been drawn and chinks of light showed between them. Wondering at the foolhardiness that had impelled her to ask Clive and Celia to dine, she paused at the gate to draw breath. Now she had Celia to face for the evening and she did not know how she was to bear it.

As she dressed she heard the car drive up and then drive off again, in the direction of The Crofts; Clive returning to wait for Hester. And in the drawing-room Celia waited for her, holding her violin, and Monica understood in a moment all that had happened as she said, not able to control the breathlessness: ‘Hester was up there, Monica. She had come back and was up there on the hill: looking at the sunset, too.—And, oh, Monica—please forgive me—but did anything happen, between