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‘Oh, I always think it a heavenly time then, the horse-chestnuts just beginning to bud, and violets in the streets.——— Had you thought of anything else?’

He was still looking at her, and now he lifted his eyebrows and opened his eyes very widely; then said: ‘I have been asked to go to Cornwall for Easter———some new friends of mine.———But of course I could give that up if you have fixed your heart on Paris, Mummy.’

A violent struggle took place within her, but she mastered it. ‘Of course you mustn’t give it up. Who are the new friends?’ It was inevitable that she should ask that now; he could feel no pressure in that.

‘Rather a nice couple,’ said Clive. ‘He is the editor of “The Protest”———you know that clever weekly———and she is artistic and does batik scarves and curtains. Jessup is their name and they have three nice little children. I am not sure you would care for them though, Mummy. I shall find out, in Cornwall.’

He was now smiling at her quite clearly. He was grateful to her for not holding him back from Cornwall.

‘Only those two?’