Barbara got away from her troop party earlier than she had expected. She had not gone out in her own car but had been given a lift. She was dropped off outside the village, having said she would enjoy the walk home. It was nice with the breeze in her face after the stuffy canteen. “I hope,” she thought, “the country doesn’t dry up before Dick gets home. It’s so green and full of flowers just now.” Dick! She hugged herself at the thought of him. They would have a gorgeous time; they wouldn’t waste a minute. Thinking of Dick somehow switched her mind to Donald and Janet. What had Donald meant? “Certain faults I can’t stomach, especially in women.” Janet was an angel. What faults?

Wondering about her friend made Barbara feel mean; it was as if she didn’t trust her. She was as near the cottage as she was home. She turned to the cottage.

Maggie was in her chair on the lawn. She was delighted to see Barbara. With Janet in bed, and Sheila out, she was feeling lonely.

“Where’s Hoover?”

Barbara explained what she had been doing.

“So I had to leave him with Daddy for the day, and by now he’ll have drunk all Daddy’s milk, and dug up several pet plants. I bet I’m going home to trouble. Where’s Janet?”

Maggie’s face clouded.

“In bed with a sick headache. They went to the cinema yesterday for little Iris’ birthday. I never knew her to have a bad head like this before, I hope it’s not a germ. I always say cinemas are dirty places.”

“Would she see me?”

“I expect she’d like to. She’s bad company, though, poor darling, just lying there with the blinds down.”

Barbara knocked on Janet’s door. The listlessness of the “Come in” shocked her. The cretonne curtains were drawn, but not the black-out. Janet was lying facing the wall. She turned her head as Barbara came in and sat up.

“Barbara!”

Barbara was horrified at Janet’s appearance. ‘Drained’ was the word that came to her. It seemed as if all vivacity and colour had poured out of her. She sat down at the end of the bed.

“Sorry your head’s bad.”

Janet made an obvious effort to appear herself.

“Where’s Hoover?”

Barbara again explained what she had been doing. Janet seemed to listen, but her eyes wandered. Barbara broke off.

“You do look ill. Is there anything I can get you?”

Janet clasped her hands and gripped them together so tightly the flesh turned white under the pressure of her fingers.

“Don’t be nice to me, please. I can’t stand it.”

There is nothing more moving to watch than somebody’s fight for self-control. Barbara sprang up and knelt by the bed. She put her arms round Janet.

“What’s wrong?”