Janet got the farmer to stop in the village. She made the doctor her excuse; she told Donald she wanted news of Maggie, which, of course, was true, but only in part. She did not want to be towed up to the farm and face Gladys’ prying eyes; she did not want to explain why she had been so distrait that she had not seen the collision with the motor-cycle. She wanted the walk home alone to collect her thoughts.

The Old Oast House, where the doctor lived, lay in a lane which ran up beside the Haines’ house. As Janet reached the Haines’ front gate Barbara came out with Hoover.

“Hullo!” She slipped her arm through Janet’s. “We’re taking a constitutional, as Daddy calls it. I have to make Hoover walk or he gets disgustingly fat. I suspect Daddy slips him some of his milk now and then. Where are you off to?” Janet explained. “Where have you come from? The farm?”

Janet was unwilling to talk about her afternoon. Her voice was exaggeratedly off-hand.

“No, shopping. Donald, Mr. Sheldon I mean, was going in for a meeting. He wanted Iris to come too, but she has a chill.”

Barbara glanced at Janet, hearing something elusive in her voice. Janet dropped her eyes, and Barbara made a little amused face, but she could see Janet did not want to be teased.

“Hoover and I will come with you as far as The Oast House.” She looked down at Hoover. “But don’t imagine, my boy, we’re stopping there for you to have a row with the grey cat, because we’re not; we’re going for a brisk walk to the top of the hill.”

The doctor was in his surgery mixing medicines. He nodded at Janet.

“Sit down, my dear. Don’t mind my going on with my work, do you?”

“How is Mother?”

He poured some powder on to his scales.

“Know anything about hearts?”

“No.”

“Well then, let’s take something you do know. You were a secretary in London, weren’t you?” She nodded. “Then you understand typewriters. What would happen if you used a typewriter year in year out, never sent it away for an overhaul?”

“After a time it wouldn’t work.”

“Quite. Well, for overhaul take holiday. Your mother’s like the typewriter, worn right out.” Janet eyed him in frightened silence. He wagged a finger at her. “Now don’t look scared; I’ve told you the worst first. With care she’s going to get a whole lot better.”

“But she won’t take care.”

“Oh, yes, she will! Did you ever hear of Tirdoutum?”

“No.”