“No. You saw the only energetic bit.”

He smiled down at Iris.

“We ought to find somebody of your own age to play with you, young lady.”

Iris’ voice was contented.

“I don’t want anybody but Janet.”

“I dare say, but what about poor Janet? She’s not used to swinging gates.” He turned back to Janet. “I hope you see a lot of Barbara. We feel her rather a special charge, but I expect you know as much about that as I do.”

Janet was puzzled. As it happened she knew about Barbara and his half-brother from her mother, otherwise all she had to go on was his statement at luncheon that they looked on Barbara almost as a relation. They must, she thought amusedly, rely a great deal on local gossip in the country. It would be queer in London if everybody was expected to know the ins and outs of people’s lives by what news they could pick up, but she said nothing on the subject for they were at the field path leading to the cottage; instead she had a look at Iris. The swinging on the gate had tossed the child’s hair about. Hers was evidently a personality which lit like a match when there was anything whatsoever to be gay about. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled and she looked what is known in the nursery world as ‘above herself’. Janet got her comb out of her bag.

“Stand still,” she said firmly, “and you’ve to put on your hat. I can’t have Miss Batten saying I sent you back looking like a rag-bag.”

Iris pulled away from the comb, and pirouetted, chanting:

“Rag-bag! Rag-bag!”

Donald gave Janet an understanding grin.

“It’s all right. I shall get blamed. I’m renowned for my bad effect.”

Janet gave him Iris’ hat.

“We didn’t do anything to excite her, really.”

Iris danced back. She flung herself on Janet.

“Good night, darling, darling Janet. Every single day is going to be nice now you’ve come. Isn’t it, Daddy?”

Donald held out his hand.

“Come on, young woman. Bed-time.”

“But don’t you think it’ll be nice, Daddy?”

Janet kissed the child.

“Good night, goose.”

Iris took her father’s hand.

“But you do see her being here will make everything diff rent, don’t you?”

Donald gave Janet an enigmatic nod, which might mean good night, or, more likely, “You see what I’m forced to say.”

“All the difference,” and he led the dancing Iris up the road.

Janet walked home, not consciously noticing what she was about. It was only when she was in sight of the cottage that she found she was singing.

Section 7

Maggie was against the tea-party from the moment she heard of it.

“They’re not my sort, darling. I’ve never been used to people with big houses and a lot of servants.”