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‘My dear—what wonderful news,’ she said slowly, looking down at Robin’s head.

‘It is rather, isn’t it? We are rather proud of ourselves. Even Robin didn’t know.’ Hester tapped her cigarette against the mantelpiece and again frowned at the tip. ‘You are coming to live near Grannie, Robin; isn’t that rather jolly?’

Robin, making no reply, turned his eyes up to his grandmother. It was as though he felt all the unuttered things in her, all the things Hester would never feel.

‘Isn’t it wonderful; you can see the goldfish every day,’ she said to him softly. She wanted horribly to cry; to be alone so that she could think.

‘Not if they’re unhappy,’ said Robin, gazing at her. ‘Not if they’re going to die.’

‘But they’re not going to die. Why should they die? We’ll make a little pond for them—since Mummy thinks they’re unhappy in the bowl—and have a fountain to play over them. Wouldn’t you like a fountain to play with? Like the princess, with the three golden balls?’

Robin’s eyes still studied her. ‘But Jeremy died,’ he said. ‘And he was very happy.—Is it true that he’ll never, never come back—however much we want him?’