It was all very unfortunate, Mrs Thrace said over and over again. If Walter Symonds had jilted May for some unknown girl, they would have been bitterly indignant, enraged even, and Mr Thrace would have felt old-fashioned longings to apply a horsewhip. But what could anyone say or do when he transferred his affections from the elder daughter to the younger?

May screamed and sobbed and tried to attack June with a knife. ‘We’re all terribly sorry for you, my darling,’ said Mrs Thrace, ‘but what can anyone do? You wouldn’t marry a man who doesn’t love you, would you?’

‘He does love me, he does! It’s just because she’s pretty. She’s cast a spell on him. I wish she was dead and then he’d love me again.’

‘You mustn’t say that, May. It’s all very cruel, but you have to face the fact that he’s changed his mind. Isn’t it better to find out now than later?’

‘I would have had him,’ said May.

Mrs Thrace blushed. She was shocked to the core.

‘I shall never marry now,’ said May. ‘She’s ruined my life and I shall never have anything ever again.’

Walter and June were married, and Walter’s father bought them a big house in Surrey. May stayed at home, being useful to her mother. The war came. Walter went straight into the army, became a captain, a major, finally a colonel. May also went into the army, where she remained a private for five years, working in some catering department. After that, there was nothing for it but to go home to her parents once more.

She never forgave her sister.

‘She stole my husband,’ she said to her mother.

‘He wasn’t your husband, May.’

‘As good as. You wouldn’t forgive a thief who came into your house and stole the most precious thing you had or were likely to have.’

‘We’re told to forgive those who trespass against us, as we hope to be forgiven.’

‘I’m not religious,’ said May, and on those occasions when the Symondses came to the Thrace home she took care to be out of it. But she knew all about them – all, that is, except one thing.

Mr and Mrs Thrace were most careful never to speak of June in her presence, so May listened outside the door, and she secretly read all June’s letters to her mother. Whenever Walter’s name was spoken or mentioned in a letter, she winced and shivered with the pain of it. She knew that they had moved to a much larger house, that they were building up a collection of furniture and pictures. She knew where they went for their holidays and what friends they entertained. But what she was never able to discover was how Walter felt about June. Had he ever really loved her? Had he repented of his choice? May thought that perhaps, after the first flush of infatuation was over, he had come to long for his former love as much as she longed for him. Since she never saw them she could never know, for, however he might feel, Walter couldn’t leave June. When you have done what he had done you can’t change again. You have to stick it out till death.