“Do you mean to say I’ve been paying you only ten shillings a week for a house worth a hundred a year?”

“It was a fancy price the Moretons paid,” Donald said awkwardly. “I dare say I’d never have got it again.”

Maggie looked at Janet in pity and dismay. Of course it was understandable that she had wanted to get her mother and sister away from the bombings, and all credit to her, but it was not understandable that she should send her younger sister with the story of a faked understanding, to beg favours of her employer’s brother. That was not like Janet, nor the way she had brought her up. Yet nobody could speak harshly to the crushed, broken Janet sitting on the window-seat.

“Janet, you should tell the truth, I think. In extenuation for you I can only say that a wish to get one’s family away from the bombings was understandable, though, by the methods you used, unforgivable.”

There was silence, then Janet raised her head; her eyes were black with suffering.

“I can’t bear it that you, Mum, and you, Donald, can believe all this of me. I would never have believed such stories of either of you.”

Maggie’s voice was still gentle.

“But, Janet dear, here are the facts. Sheila came straight to this place, to this address; well, who gave her the address if not you?”

Donald gave a sudden quick movement and stepped to the edge of the lawn. He looked over his shoulder at Maggie.

“I thought you said Sheila was in bed with food poisoning?”

Maggie nodded.

“Potted meat at tea.”

“She didn’t have potted meat for tea,” said Dick. “There wasn’t any.”

Donald gave a grunt.

“Whatever she had she’s legging it across the fields now.”

The colonel sat up.

“Run after her, Donald, and persuade Miss Sheila to come back here and have a word with us.”

Sheila was a pitiable spectacle. She made no protest when Donald stopped her, but weakly, and with a cowed expression, returned with him to the cottage.

“Give the poor girl a chair,” said the colonel. “You look very seedy, my dear. I understand it’s potted meat.”

Sheila fixed her eyes on Dick; her voice was so tiny that it was very difficult to hear it.

“Actually, no. It was castor-oil.”

The colonel’s lips twitched. He put a hand over his mouth to hide them.

“You’ve heard a good deal of what we’ve been sayin’ from your bedroom, haven’t you, that’s why you ran? Where were you goin’?”

“To Gladys. We—we planned things together.”

“Ah!” The colonel shifted his position. “Now tell me, did Janet send you down to Donald, to get this cottage?” Sheila turned hunted eyes round the party.

“I shouldn’t wonder if I was sick.”

“Never you mind that,” the colonel said firmly. “You answer my question.”