"Oh, very lucky."

She was walking round the room - prowling, picking up things, putting them down.

"Must you be so terribly restless, dear? You make me feel quite jumpy!"

"Sorry, Mums."

"There's nothing the matter, is there?"

"What should be the matter?" asked Lynn sharply.

"Well, don't jump down my throat, darling. Now about bridesmaids. I really think you ought to ask the Macrae girl. Her mother was my closest friend, remember, and I do think she'll be hurt if -"

"I loathe Joan Macrae and always have."

"I know, darling, but does that really matter? Marjorie will, I'm sure, feel hurt -"

"Really, Mums, it's my wedding, isn't it?"

"Yes, I know, Lynn, but -"

"If there is a wedding at all!"

She hadn't meant to say that. The words slipped out without her having planned them. She would have caught them back, but it was too late. Mrs Marchmont was staring at her daughter in alarm.

"Lynn, darling, what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing, Mums."

"You and Rowley haven't quarrelled?"

"No, of course not. Don't fuss, Mums, everything's all right."

But Adela was looking at her daughter in real alarm, sensitive to the turmoil behind Lynn's frowning exterior.

"I've always felt you'd be so safe married to Rowley," she said piteously.

"Who wants to be safe?" Lynn asked scornfully. She turned sharply.

"Was that the telephone?"

"No. Why? Are you expecting a call?"

Lynn shook her head. Humiliating to be waiting for the telephone to ring.

He had said he would ring her tonight. He must.

"You're mad," she told herself. "Mad."

Why did this man attract her so? The memory of his dark unhappy face rose up before her eyes. She tried to banish it, tried to replace it by Rowley's broad good-looking countenance. His slow smile, his affectionate glance. But did Rowley, she thought, really care about her? Surely if he'd really cared, he'd have understood that day when she came to him and begged for five hundred pounds. He'd have understood instead of being so maddeningly reasonable and matter- of-fact.

Marry Rowley, live on the farm, never go away again, never see foreign skies, smell exotic smells - never again be free...

Sharply the telephone rang. Lynn took a deep breath, walked across the hall and picked up the receiver.

With the shock of a blow, Aunt Kathie's voice came thinly through the wire.

"Lynn? Is that you? Oh, I'm so glad. I'm afraid, you know, I've made rather a muddle - about the meeting at the Institute -"

The thin fluttering voice went on. Lynn listened, interpolated comments, uttered reassurances, received thanks.

"Such a comfort, dear Lynn, you are always so kind and so practical. I really can't imagine how I get things so muddled up."

Lynn couldn't imagine either. Aunt Kathie's capacity for muddling the simplest issues amounted practically to genius.

"But I always do say," finished Aunt Kathie, "that everything goes wrong at once. Our telephone is out of order and I've had to go out to a call-box, and now I'm here I hadn't got twopence, only halfpennies - and I had to go and ask -"