This little dead maternal design she laid out before Sydney with naivety and appeared to consider forlornly but with beautiful resignation. Sydney, startled by its appearance, sat speechless and looked at her friend, whose unreproachfulness quietly accused her. ‘I know,’ said Mrs Kerr, apparently going off at a tangent and looking down so that there was nothing but the movement of her eyelids and the modulations of her light voice to show or give point to what she was saying, ‘that I haven’t professed to believe a word of all you have, both of you, so expansively and delightfully told me about life. I haven’t a grasp of abstractions, and life, when you mean the theory of living, is an abstraction, surely. You know I’ve been flippant and difficult, but at least I did try to be honest – I didn’t believe. But, my dear, I have so intensely wanted to: I could have prayed (if ever one did) for either of you to justify yourselves, or, best of all, both of you. I’ve never professed that anything could transcend the conventions; you have. Well, you’ve insisted passionately that an understanding is possible between a young man and young woman that can remain quite un-bothered, without electricity or diffidence. Ronald insisted, too. When I’ve said “Well then?” at intervals, you’ve both waved your arms and declared that you couldn’t produce at the moment the right kind of person to demonstrate with. Well, here you both are, and I’m waiting. Has it been too matter-of-fact of me? Possibilities burgeoned, and I’m here waiting for the most idyllic relationship to spring into flower. Can you wonder I’m disappointed and cynical – it’s been a poor kind of triumph – at having had to watch you two resolving yourselves into just such an ordinary state of suspicion and watchfulness and antipathy as might precede the most normal attraction in which the heart of a biologist could rejoice?’ She laughed deprecatingly; the whole idea of such attraction seemed to be distasteful to her. ‘I’ve talked a long time,’ she said, ‘rather confusedly, and had to use several words that I rather dislike. What I might have asked shortly – since it’s all really that I wanted to know – is: Why ever can’t you and Ronald be friends?’

Mrs Kerr’s hand, that lay with casually spread-out fingers under Sydney’s eyes along the edge of the table, had some vague connection with her personality, but neither seemed to have anything to do with what had been said. The amazed Sydney could not reconcile them. ‘Do you mean what you’ve just been saying?’ she said doubtfully. ‘Do you really believe what you’ve just said? Did much really stand or fall on our making a success of things – I and Ronald?’