Sheila, uncertain as yet of how she was going to get out of taking her job, did not want to discuss it any further. She looked impatiently at her wrist-watch. What a time Gladys was being! Iris would be in bed and tucked up, and Janet joining them if she didn’t hurry. She saw a bird and it gave her an idea as to how to prolong the conversation.

“You ought to keep pigeons. The sort with pretty tails that walk on walls.”

“All right in a gentleman’s garden, but no good on a farm cluttering the gutters.” He saw Gladys. Ever since Sunday night he had been thankful for any straw of conversation, however feeble. He turned to her with a smile. “Sheila thinks we ought to keep pigeons.”

Gladys was no actress.

“Pigeons?”

“Yes,” said Sheila, “the white sort with tails.” Seeing no brightening on Gladys’ face she came at once to her cue. “Oh, Gladys, did you see my bag in the dining-room?”

Gladys shook her head.

“Then I’ll get it.”

Donald moved to fetch it for her, but Gladys, not acting but only feeling what had been burning her since Sunday, laid her hand on his arm.

“No, don’t go. I want to talk to you and you keep avoiding me.”

He was terrified.

“There’s nothing I can say.”

Her hand on his arm tightened.

“Yes, there is. I don’t ask for love. I quite see that perhaps you can’t give me that, but I want you to marry me. It’s only fair. Anna expected it. She often talked to me about it. She said that after she was dead she hoped I’d marry you, because I could give you the comfort that she’d never been able to manage. The people here expect it, I’m laughed at . . .”

“Oh, my dear, you make me sound such a brute, but I can’t . . . you see . . .”

She read what he was going to say in his face and began to cry, heart-rending, tearing sobs. Awkwardly he put an arm round her, and with a gasp she had hers round his neck, and her head on his breast.

Upstairs Janet was sitting on Iris’ bed while the child nestled against her.

“I feel rather sorry for Pop-eye. He tried so hard to be nice,” Iris explained.

Janet laughed.

“Have you had a lovely birthday?”

“Absolutely perfect. I hope I won’t be sick.”

“So do I. You ate enough supper to be.”

Iris rubbed her cheek on Janet’s sleeve.

“Silly Janet. I was only teasing. I’ve got an inside can take tin-tacks, same as an ostrich seemingly.”

Janet laid the child down and kissed her.

“Good night, Mrs. Honeywell.”

Iris held up a battered old teddy bear.

“Say good night to teddy. He had a birthday to-day too, he’s five. He loves you as much as I do.”

Sheila came in.