“Well, after Iris is in bed—the sun sets so ridiculously late with this double summertime—I thought you might take Janet up to the spare room to look at the sunset . . .”

Sheila giggled.

“Janet would think that awfully queer, looking at sunsets isn’t a bit like me.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else.”

Sheila swallowed the last of her coffee.

“Can’t it be something to do with Iris? I mean, can’t you fix the big kissing act under Iris’ window? If Janet stays to supper it would be natural for her to put Iris to bed, and I can easily go up to say good night to the kid or something; actually, I quite like her, and then I can see Janet looks out of the window.”

“But Iris might look out.”

“Well, if she did, there’s no harm in kissing. I always wonder why there’s such a fuss made about it. Anyway, if you’re going to be her stepmother she’ll have to get used to the idea.”

“Don’t you mind getting your sister to look?” Gladys asked curiously. “I mean, if she’s fond of him she’s going to mind.”

Sheila was surprised.

“Goodness, no! I never liked her awfully. I don’t see why one should like a person just because she’s one’s sister.” She got up. “Well, thanks a lot for the coffee.”

Outside in the yard she ran into Donald. He was busy, but he paused a second for a word, for she made him laugh.

“We can use you,” he teased her; “we want some extra hands for harvest.”

“Actually I shan’t be here much longer. I’m going to work for N.A.A.F.I.”

He grinned.

“That ought to popularize army life.”

Sheila was delighted.

“Everybody teases me. Is Janet being a good governess?”

He became slightly on the defensive.

“Very.”

“Actually you were very lucky to get her instead of me. Aren’t you beginning to think that?”

He turned away.

“You’re a minx, you’re trying to salve your conscience.”

“Oh, no, I’m not. You know people talk a lot about conscience, but I don’t remember ever feeling mine.”

He chuckled as he walked away.

“I shouldn’t wonder if that was true. Well, have a heart and don’t do too much slaughter amongst the troops.”

Iris sat on a chair beside Maggie’s sofa. She was hemming, her tongue held between her teeth, and her breath coming in anxious gasps. Maggie sat up and looked at the piece that was done.

“That’s much better. Now rest a bit.”

Iris relaxed thankfully.

“I’m not what you’d call a born needlewoman.”

“No. We can’t all have the same gifts.”