‘That’s what’s so sickening – disliking them and feeling sorry for them.’

‘I hope our nephews and nieces won’t feel like that about us,’ said Sophia.

‘I shan’t have any children. They cost a lot,’ said Francis at once. ‘Repairing their ruddy little boots, and all the rest of it. I shall send all mine, if I do have any, to Dr Barnardo’s.’

‘You’ll probably have to, anyway,’ observed Harry. ‘It’ll be the cheapest way of running them.’

‘I keep on expecting one of the old fools to ring up,’ said Sophia. ‘Do they know we’re clearing out tonight?’

‘Yes, but I told them the telephone was being disconnected. It isn’t really, of course. Mrs Carmody wants it.’

In the pause that followed, the lordly sound of Juan’s car could be heard coming down the hill. It was half past eight.

‘There’s Juan!’

‘Will you stay and see him, Sophia?’ asked Harry, a little timidly. ‘The old chap feels rather bad about breaking up the home, you know.’

‘He needn’t,’ said Sophia at once, and meant it. ‘He was just the last straw, so to speak. If it hadn’t been him it would have been something else.’

‘Well, thank goodness we can be candid about having different ideas, and talk things out and still be good friends,’ said Harry. ‘If we were typical Gardens we should have been cantering round, foaming at the hocks and saying we would never mention each other’s names again or some such blah.’

The car drew up outside.

Francis went to open the door, and Sophia took pains to welcome Juan with an easy cordial manner, just touched with mischief, which at once soothed him; he was looking very nervous when he came in.

The suitcases were piled into the car, the floor of the; cottage was stacked with boxes and rolled-up cushions and bundles of books.

‘What’s the time … nearly nine,’ said Harry. ‘What time will your van be here, darling?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It might be nearly ten; Mr Cross’s young man can’t get here until the shop shuts, and it’s late on Saturdays of course.’

‘Well, will you promise something?’

She looked alarmed.

‘What is it?’

‘Don’t look so frightened … it’s only that we want you to stay here until the post gets in.’

‘Why – are you expecting a letter?’

‘No … we just want you to promise, that’s all.’

‘All right, I will if you like. That will be about half past nine. I’ll wait. What is it? One of your heavy jokes?’

‘Just a mood, darling. The beloved old figure in the shabby dressing-gown must have its whims gratified; it won’t be with us for long.’

‘Well, man, shall we be hareing along,’ suggested Juan,’ Got everything? Coo! doesn’t the place look dismal!’

Francis, whose opinion of Juan’s tact was low, raised his eyebrows at Sophia, who agreed that the place did, indeed, look dismal. She suggested that it might possibly be because it was dismantled, and there was no fire, and Juan heartily agreed with this point of view.