“Do you know, Gladys, you’re the most surprisingest person I ever knew. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have thought of a lovely idea like that. Matter of fact I never did think you were really fond of Janet. Not like me and Daddy are, I mean.”

Donald moved uneasily.

“Your grammar’s shocking.”

“Terrible,” Iris agreed.

“I’ve lit a little log fire,” Gladys said to Donald. “We can do with it while this nasty wind is blowing.”

“Won’t it be stuffy?”

She shook her head at him.

“No, just cosy. We like it cosy, don’t we?”

He felt hot under the collar. He was grateful to Gladys; she had been splendid to Anna, and a grand housekeeper to himself, but it always embarrassed him when she talked in a possessive, intimate way, and lately, since he had known Janet, it made him feel a cad. Had he let Gladys understand that he was in love with her? Of course, after Anna died, when he had been so lonely, he had clung to her a bit, but surely he had never said a word to suggest he meant more than friendship.

Gladys took Iris upstairs to put her to bed. The child was old enough to bath herself, but apt to dream, so Gladys always sat in the bathroom to see that she really washed.

“Your hands are very dirty,” she said, “scrub them well.”

Iris examined her fingers.

“They got like that picking poppies. Janet’s putting them in the church for Tom’s grandson’s wedding tomorrow. Me and Janet are going to see them married.”

“Did Janet go with you on your walk?”

“No, we met her at the end of the long acre, where the poppies grow. Do you know, Gladys, when we met her she had a lovely bunch, all looking as new as new, and all in a minute they were so dead they weren’t any more good. Mrs. Honeywell says that means a flirt, but Janet said her worst enemy couldn’t say she was that. Who d’you suppose her worst enemy is?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. Wash your ears.”

Iris screwed up her face and did as she was told.

“I wish I’d seen them die. D’you suppose, if I’d watched, I could have?”

Gladys’ foot tapped on the floor.

“Why didn’t you watch?”

“I wasn’t there, I’d gone to pick poppies.”

Gladys got abruptly to her feet.

“Come on, get out.”

“But only half of me’s washed.”

“I can’t help that.”

Iris’ eyes slid up to Gladys’ face. She was, she saw, in one of her worst moods, which meant she could be really angry all in a second without any warning. Without a word she scrambled out of the bath, wrapped herself in her towel, and almost fell over in her efforts to get dry rapidly.