Half an hour later Janet came downstairs. There was a light under the sitting-room door and she went in. It was not a room she had been in before. Like the dining-room it had been furnished by Donald’s grandfather, left as it was by the uncle who inherited the farm, then by his father and finally by himself. It was practically a museum piece, a perfect example of Victorian middle-class taste. In two massive armchairs, with antimacassars over their backs, sat Gladys and Donald. Gladys was mending, her work-basket on the table beside her, with an impressive pile of socks lying beside it. Donald was reading.

“I just looked in to say good night,” said Janet. “Iris is asleep.”

Donald got up.

“Do sit down. What was the trouble?”

Janet would have liked to turn on Gladys. Tell her what she thought of her, and let Donald see her clearly, but it was foreign to her nature to make trouble, and as well she felt that in a way she owed Gladys something. She had, after all, been kissed by Donald that afternoon.

“Nothing much. She’s a highly strung little thing.”

“But she said something about you not teaching her any more. What’s at the back of that?”

Janet glanced at Gladys to see if she was going to say anything, but Gladys’ head was bent over her darning.

“She had got muddled, she had heard about my idea of joining the W.R.N.S. I explained about my mother and that’s cleared that up.”

Donald held out his cigarette-case.

“Have a cigarette before you go.”

Janet knew the sensible thing from the point of view of peace and a quiet life was to make for home, but she could not resist seeing a little more of Donald. The case reminded them both of the afternoon; over his lighter their eyes met. Neither intended by a flicker of an eyelash to show what was in their minds, but to Gladys the tie between them, and the change of feeling, was as clear as if they had told her what had happened. Her fingers grew sticky round her darning-needle, and a pulse beat in her temples. Her voice was huskier than usual, and there was bitterness behind it.

“She’d be far better at school, Donald. What that child needs is other children.”

Donald turned to her nervously.

“We must see later on. The great thing is that she’s settled down tonight.” He looked at his watch. “What about tea? It’s nearly time, and we can give Janet a cup before she goes.”

Janet watched Gladys struggling with herself. Longing to refuse because she did not want to leave them alone together, and yet conscious that if she did refuse she would look ungracious before Donald. The latter consideration won; she got up. As she left the room she propped the door open.