yellow house with its nine ball-topped gables; and the lawn, shut in
by clipped yew hedges, then spreading downwards, like a fan, from the
last green terrace where the two enormous peacocks stood, carved out of
the yew.

Where it lay flat and still under the green wall she saw the tennis
court. Jerrold was there, knocking balls over the net to please little
Colin. She could see him fling back his head and laugh as Colin ran
stumbling, waving his racquet before him like a stiff flag. She heard
Colin squeal with excitement as the balls flew out of his reach.

Her father was talking about her. His voice was sharp and anxious.

"I don't know how she'll get on with your boys." (He always talked about
Anne as if she wasn't there.) "Ten's an awkward age. She's too old for
Colin and too young for Eliot and Jerrold."

She knew their ages. Colin was only seven. Eliot, the clever one, was
very big; he was fifteen. Jerrold was thirteen.

She heard Jerrold's father answering in his quiet voice.

"You needn't worry. Jerry'll look after Anne all right."

"And Adeline."

"Oh yes, of course, Adeline." (Only somehow he made it sound as if she
wouldn't.)

Adeline was Mrs. Fielding. Jerrold's mother.

Anne wanted to get away from the quiet, serious men and play with
Jerrold; but their idea seemed to be that it was too soon. Too soon
after the funeral. It would be all right to go quietly and look at the
goldfish; but no, not to play. When she thought of her dead mother she
was afraid to tell them that she didn't want to go and look at the
goldfish. It was as if she knew that something sad waited for her by the
pond at the bottom. She would be safer over there where Jerrold was
laughing and shouting. She would play with him and he wouldn't be
afraid.

The day felt like a Sunday, quiet, quiet, except for the noise of
Jerrold's laughter. Strange and exciting, his boy's voice rang through
her sadness; it made her turn her head again and again to look after
him; it called to her to forget and play.

Little slim brown minnows darted backwards and forwards under the olive
green water of the pond. And every now and then the fat goldfish came
nosing along, orange, with silver patches, shining, making the water
light round them, stiff mouths wide open. When they bobbed up, small
bubbles broke from them and sparkled and went out.

Anne remembered the goldfish; but somehow they were not so fascinating
as they used to be.

A queer plan