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which she had not till then been aware. Hester was changed since that day of their first meeting. She was as assured, as competent as ever, but she was certainly kinder. Something of her repellent manner on the first day might be set down to girlish awkwardness, and perhaps, in spite of the assurance, she had really been a little frightened. It was possible, if difficult, to believe it.

‘May I see the goldfish?’ said Robin. He was dressed in a little suit of green. Monica did not think it became him. Clive, she had always dressed in blue or white.

‘You may; but let me have a look at you first; the goldfish will wait.’ She drew him to her side while Hester leaned to the fire and held out her hands to the blaze. She had taken off the boots in the hall and showed slender legs and low-heeled shoes; her dark coat and skirt, sparse and formal, gave her again the boyish air, though there was nothing really masculine in Hester’s demeanour. Mingling with the terse competency, Monica felt always an undertone, repellent to her, of something soft and smouldering, and over Robin’s head she cast an oblique glance of the old distaste at her daughter-in-law’s nonchalant form.

‘Why doesn’t our room turn round like this,