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come to,’ Hester went on, ‘mainly because of you—but because of ourselves as well. We are tired of London in some ways. I don’t think it’s very good for Robin, or for Clive either. He still gets those horrid headaches from time to time.—And since last spring we’ve had our eye on The Crofts—the cottage on the hill, you know, under the wood:—and now we’ve bought it.—Yes, actually.—I thought you’d be pleased. We have been very crafty about it all and said nothing to you lest it should fall through and you should be disappointed.—There’s been the London house to get rid of and endless documents to seal and sign. But it’s all done now in law and order, and you won’t be lonely any more.’ And Hester benevolently surveyed her, very much, it flashed over Monica, as she might have surveyed the goldfish, released and making off down stream. She saw the picture of the hurrying fish, golden and glad, and for a moment felt their astonished gladness in herself, before she felt a deep drop of dread. It was not Clive coming back; it was Hester. She had run away; to be safe; to keep safe with Clive; to hide from Clive; and now Hester followed her. No; the goldfish were not released; they were drawn out of their safe retreat in a net.