“Is Shakespeare poetry?” asked Nettie, peering into a box.

“No, he belongs with the set of Elizabethan dramatists—the old leather ones. But let Clem lift the heavy books.” May was uncoiling newspaper from around a jug. Her broad, tawny head was lowered over the china into a shaft of sunlight, and its brilliant color made her actions seem less businesslike than usual. “Dreadful to think this will all have to go back to town in the autumn. Still, I’m glad we came early this year, in spite of the cold. And perhaps Clem can take long weekends when the summer comes, and be less in town. It’s hard on him to travel so far for just the two days. And you, too, Nettie, now that you’re living in town. Don’t forget—whenever you like, Clem can drive you up for the weekend.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. She had filled the lowest shelf of the bookcase and now sat back on her heels to survey it.

“Nettie, are you all right?”

Nettie blew some dust off A Shropshire Lad and looked at May over the end of the book. “Yes, of course.”

“You seem a bit pale.” May lowered her voice slightly. “Aren’t you well? Would you like an aspirin?”

“I’m fine. Really.” Nettie turned back to the shelves with a load of books. She had rolled up the sleeves of her heavy blue sweater, and her thin forearms were grubby from the books. An imprecise black pigtail dangled between her hunched shoulders.

May eyed her for a moment with determination rather than concern, but was distracted by steps on the stairs. “Here’s Clem, anyway. He can fill the top shelves.”

“What is it I’m supposed to do?” her husband asked—apparently as a formality, since he went straight to the books and began stacking them on upper shelves. “Why on earth Meredith?… And Galsworthy— Oh, for God’s sake, darling.” He turned round to May with a book in his hand.

“Dear, I’ll be here for almost six months, you know. Mostly with just the children.”

“No reason to lose your head completely.” He placed the book alongside the others. “Who was that on the telephone?”

“Oh, the Bairds are back—that was Sarah. They opened their house last week. Sent you their love. I asked them for dinner tomorrow night.”

“I thought you had to collect Matt from your mother’s tomorrow.” Their elder boy was spending a few days at his grandmother’s, thirty miles away.

“I’ll be back before dinner. And Marion can have everything ready—I’ve asked her to stay a little later tomorrow evening.”