“Come for a walk, Edward. I feel low,” Grace commanded on the telephone at nine o’clock the next morning. “There’s no concert, you know. The orchestra is gadding, but it’s our afternoon just the same. There might be a few late migrants still worth seeing at the cemetery.” She said all this in one breath, because she was so afraid he would refuse, because also she did not know really what mood she had interrupted. “I expect you’ve done a full day’s work, already?”

“I’ve been sitting in front of a blank page for two hours. Perhaps that’s work.” His tone was dry, faraway. She could sense the fatigue in it.

“Well, it’s a lovely day and a walk will do you good,” she answered firmly. “We’d better start at three. It gets dark so early …” It was clear that he did not want to talk now, and once that was settled she hung up abruptly. But when she had hung up, she sat for some moments doing nothing, stroking Horace’s head absent-mindedly as he lay curled up beside her on the bed, half-hidden under the breakfast tray.

“He’s coming, Horace, so we mustn’t be anxious, must we?” she said, scratching him now under the chin, as the purrs grew louder. One paw stretched out and she held it a moment in her hand. Little leather palm, she thought. It was such a soft yielding little hand for a moment, but then it withdrew itself quite firmly.

“It’s a hell of a world, Ellen,” she announced when Ellen came in to take the tray.

“Yes, ma’am. I expect it is, ma’am,” Ellen answered discreetly. She was tall, thin and ageless, and nothing Grace Kimlock said shocked her because she didn’t believe a word of it.

“Professor Cavan will be coming to tea, Ellen. We had better have some of those scones he likes and some of that ginger marmalade.” If love could find some way of expressing itself, she thought glumly. Ginger marmalade indeed. But lately she had been reduced to this sort of thing. Edward is swimming out of my ken, she said to herself. I do not know really where he is, how to touch him. It was this that made the world a hell. “Well it’s high time I got up, Horace,” she said, “no point in brooding.” Her getting up made an earthquake of the calm island of the bed and Horace, offended, got down, gave a tremendous yawn, stretching himself full length, first one back foot then the other, and walked slowly and with great dignity to the door. The day had begun.