They smoked in companionable silence. The sun was hot, but they left a door open. Now and again a dispatch-rider or an army lorry dashed by, otherwise they had the road to themselves. Janet stubbed out her cigarette. She would have liked to have lolled and let the time pass drowsily by, but she was on her guard. She was liking this time with Donald too well, and was scared of herself. Donald finished his cigarette and tossed it out of the window. He moved restlessly, and ran a finger round his collar to let out the heat. Then, suddenly, without saying a word, he had her in his arms and they were kissing.

Neither of them knew how long they clung together; a particularly noisy lorry made itself heard and they dragged themselves apart. The lorry was the head of a convoy, and as it rolled by Donald gave her another cigarette.

“That was bad of me.” He lit it for her. “I can’t blame myself. Obviously, any man would want to kiss you, but I never meant to let myself do it; it’s awkward placed as we are.”

Janet stared out of the window.

“We needn’t let it make any difference.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Except that I shall never see you without wanting to do it again; in fact only the soldiers are stopping me now.”

She shook her head.

“No, we mustn’t do it again. I mean, I don’t know why I kissed you then. I’m not a bit the sort of person who . . .”

He laid a hand over one of hers.

“My dear, don’t let’s dictate to ourselves, nor make a mountain out of this. You are young and pretty, and it’s summer, and I kissed you. Is that a crime? Is it a crime that I want most desperately to kiss you again?”

She did not move her hand.

“Of course not, and it’s not all you. Only I don’t think we can go on doing it. It’s awkward, as I’m Iris’ governess. Besides, to be quite honest, I think just kissing because we’re young and it’s summer is lovely for once, but it would be messy if it became a habit.”

He squeezed her hand and took his away.

“I see.” He puffed at his cigarette. “Life’s complicated, isn’t it?”

She tapped her ash out of the window. She said a vague “yes”, but she was not feeling at all vague, she was throbbing and alive, and radiant, and yet unhappy. “I’m in love,” she thought. “This is what being in love feels like!” The dusty road with lorries rushing by suddenly became so beautiful that she spoke of it.

“What a lovely spot this is!”

Donald’s thoughts were evidently miles away. He came back to her with a start.

“What spot?”

“This.”