Janet’s heart seemed to her to give a bounce. She did not want to be small-minded, but it was good news that Donald had not been interested in Sheila, for that was how the story went when translated. Sheila had never been known not to be interested in any man, especially a man with a car. It dismissed the idea that he kissed every girl he met.

“Poor Gladys,” she said casually. “I don’t blame her for being anxious with you about.”

Sheila turned back to the glass.

“Actually she won’t worry unless she needs to. She isn’t at all stupid.”

The family were at supper when there was a knock on the cottage door. Janet found Ben outside with a note.

“It’s Miss Iris. Master do be wholly worried.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

“Like as not nothing, save all the dosing done her by that besom, but maybe it’s worser.”

Janet tore open the envelope. The note was scribbled on a half-sheet.

“DEAR JANET,—Iris is upset. I don’t think it’s anything much, but she’s cried herself into hysteria. Could you come over for half an hour?—DONALD.”

“Donald!” thought Janet. So she was to use his Christian name!

“Thank you, Ben, I’ll be along.”

“I’ll wait for you. Master he said to wait. ‘Miss Brain isn’t used to fields same as us,’ he says, ‘maybe she’ll fall into a ditch. You stay alongside of her.’”

Janet’s smile could not be seen in the dark doorway. He had thought of her. It was nice, even if you were independent and modern, used not only to getting about by yourself, but getting about while bombs were falling, to be treated as a frail thing that needed looking after.

“I’ve got to go up to the farm for half an hour. Iris isn’t well,” she explained to Maggie.

“Poor little thing! Is there anything we can send her?”

“Or is it Iris’ daddy who wants company?” Sheila asked.

Janet was pulling on a coat. She stopped half in and half out of it and managed a very credible laugh.

“Silly idiot! You’re altogether too romantic, my girl.” She kissed her mother. “Good night, Mum. Early bed, mind. So long, Queen of the Naafi’s!”

Maggie looked tenderly after Janet, then she shook her head at Sheila.

“You’re a naughty girl to tease her. I don’t say she is interested in Mr. Sheldon, but if she is, it’s a very good thing, and you mustn’t tease her about it.”

Sheila sighed.

“I do hope the N.A.A.F.I. people don’t want me too soon.” Then she added apparently irrelevantly, “I rather like watching rows.”

Iris, flushed and swollen, was lying on her face amongst her tangled and crumpled sheets. Gladys was sitting by her and Donald leaning over the end of the bed. Janet peered round the door.

“Iris is a naughty girl,” Gladys explained in a loud voice intended to carry over Iris’ sobs. “She’s been having one of her tempers.”