Almost immediately she regretted it. Would he take this the wrong way? She floundered inside. How were you supposed to talk to men if they always got the wrong idea? She had a horror now of appearing fast in some way, of giving off a message that she had not intended.

‘Well – sometime, perhaps,’ he said, seeming uncertain. ‘Good. Right then.’ Looking at Den, he moved closer. Above the beard, the strong features, she saw how big his eyes were, and how full of a sad sympathy. ‘Poor lad. How long’s he been living rough like that?’

‘A few days.’ She spoke barely above a whisper, although Den was obviously asleep. ‘My sister Annie works with his elder sister at Masters and Hogg, you see. His family have had a very unfortunate time lately. One of his little sisters died, and then . . .’ She explained briefly about Wilf Poole, the accident and what had followed. She saw Philip Tallis’s expression darken.

‘My God,’ he said angrily. ‘What is he –’ he nodded towards Den – ‘Daisy’s age?’

‘I believe he’s a little younger.’

‘Will you put him up here for the night?’

‘I think that might be best.’

Aunt Hatt swept in with a tray. ‘Oh!’ she said, seeing Den fast asleep at the table.

‘I think we should give him something,’ Margaret said. ‘Who knows when he last ate? He’ll go back to sleep afterwards.’

‘I’d best be going,’ Philip Tallis said.

Margaret saw him to the door, intensely aware, in the dark passage, of his sturdy form behind her. In that moment she was filled with an exciting awareness of her own femininity which in the next moment was clouded with shame.

‘Here we are,’ she said, for something to say, when she reached the door. She pulled it open.

Philip Tallis paused. Faint light reached them from the lamp along the street. Their eyes met in the almost-darkness. She did not want him to leave, nor did he seem to want to go. There was a fascination in him, a charge which drew her. Heaven help me, she thought. This man . . . What is the matter with me?

‘It’s all right?’ she forced herself to say. ‘My coming in with Daisy?’

‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘Of course. Come – whenever you like.’ He hesitated, then nodded, before stepping outside. ‘Goodnight.’

In the seconds she was in the passage before returning to her aunt, Margaret gave herself a stern ticking-off.

Whatever are you doing? No men. Stop it . . . Remember how it was with Charles? No. And this one is even older – stop being so ridiculous . . . You’ll just give him the wrong idea. In any case, we’ve got to go home . . . She composed her face.