She did not want to be waylaid by Mrs Parr and have to tell her all the dreary details about the funeral.

But she need not have worried. Mrs Parr was out. Just round the corner, at the Walley Memorial Hall, a Jew who had escaped from the Nazis was telling an audience of indignant Enbury Heath residents about his experiences; and thither, in pleasant anticipation of hearing about some atrocities, had gone Mrs Parr.

Sophia soon discovered that Mrs Parr was out, and with a feeling of relief and peace, she went into her room and shut the door.

The room had a miserable dark blue wallpaper and looked out over a paved stone yard and a towering row of houses at the back, but Sophia had arranged one or two of her battered treasures on the mantelpiece, and at the end of the paved yard grew four young poplars whose tops she could see moving against the sky when she lay in bed, so she quite liked her room. And in any event, she never minded her surroundings much, so long as she could arrange things and keep them tidy.

She dragged off her cap and coat and fell on to the bed, with her legs hanging over the side so that she could kick off her muddy shoes.

Presently, she thought, I must go and telephone Celia about the party.

But it was so quiet in her room, the bed was so soft, the pillow so cool. The gas stove burned with a comfortable glow, and she was so tired.

It was lovely to lie quietly on the bed. Next to walking in the air, she liked it better than anything in the world. In bed, in the open air, she marshalled her forces for dealing with events and people when she came back again into the solid world.

She had not drawn the curtains. They hung, straight and dark blue, on either side of the black window, and between them shone square gold lights from the houses at the back.

I must go and telephone.

First one shoe, then the second, fell to the floor with enormous thuds. She curled her feet up under herself. Not a sound, except the humble hissing of the gas stove; blessed peace, silence, softness.

I ought to put out the light. I must go and telephone …

Dear Francis. I hope he got back safely. Harry. Mother … She turned her cheek deeper into the pillows, with a weak little sob. Darling Mother …

She was asleep.

CHAPTER III

Some authorities on child psychology say that the most important factor in the bringing up of a happy, well-balanced and normal child is a serene background. They recommend routine and calmness, a life as orderly as that of the solar system, with Father and Mother shining like the sun and the moon amidst the obedient planets, and keeping the frightening darkness at bay with their tender light.

Others recommend a more exciting method which suggests, rather than the solar system, the Chelsea Arts Ball taking place in a birth control clinic; but it is doubtful whether even this second school of thought would approve of the way in which the young Gardens had been brought up.