Joyce hesitated a minute or two, then she said quietly: ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘I always have mine at half past twelve,’ said Aunt Mary, settling herself comfortably with her parcels. ‘Less rush and a clearer atmosphere. The curried eggs here are excellent.’

‘Are they?’ said Joyce faintly. She felt that she could hardly bear to think of curried eggs–the hot steam rising from them–the delicious smell! She wrenched her thoughts resolutely aside.

‘You look peaky, child,’ said Aunt Mary, who was herself of a comfortable figure. ‘Don’t go in for this modern fad of eating no meat. All fal-de-lal. A good slice off the joint never did anyone any harm.’

Joyce stopped herself from saying, ‘It wouldn’t do me any harm now.’ If only Aunt Mary would stop talking about food. To raise your hopes by asking you to meet her at half past one and then to talk of curried eggs and slices of roast meat–oh! cruel–cruel.

‘Well, my dear,’ said Aunt Mary. ‘I got your letter–and it was very nice of you to take me at my word. I said I’d be pleased to see you anytime and so I should have been–but as it happens, I’ve just had an extremely good offer to let the house. Quite too good to be missed, and bringing their own plate and linen. Five months. They come in on Thursday and I go to Harrogate. My rheumatism’s been troubling me lately.’

‘I see,’ said Joyce. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘So it’ll have to be for another time. Always pleased to see you, my dear.’

‘Thank you, Aunt Mary.’

‘You know, you do look peaky,’ said Aunt Mary, considering her attentively. ‘You’re thin, too; no flesh on your bones, and what’s happened to your pretty colour? You always had a nice healthy colour. Mind you take plenty of exercise.’

‘I’m taking plenty of exercise today,’ said Joyce grimly. She rose. ‘Well Aunt Mary, I must be getting along.’

Back again–through St James’s Park this time, and so on through Berkeley Square and across Oxford Street and up Edgware Road, past Praed Street to the point where the Edgware Road begins to think of becoming something else. Then aside, through a series of dirty little streets till one particular dingy house was reached.

Joyce inserted her latchkey and entered a small frowsy hall. She ran up the stairs till she reached the top landing. A door faced her and from the bottom of this door a snuffling noise proceeded succeeded in a second by a series of joyful whines and yelps.

‘Yes, Terry darling–it’s Missus come home.’

As the door opened, a white body precipitated itself upon the girl–an aged wire-haired terrier very shaggy as to coat and suspiciously bleary as to eyes. Joyce gathered him up in her arms and sat down on the floor.