"Oh, London's not much changed," answered William.

"Good old London," said Bobby, very hearty, spearing a sardine.

But a moment later William was forgotten. Moira Morrison began wondering
what colour one's legs really were under water.

"Mine are the palest, palest mushroom colour."

Bill and Dennis ate enormously. And Isabel filled glasses, and changed
plates, and found matches, smiling blissfully. At one moment, she said,
"I do wish, Bill, you'd paint it."

"Paint what?" said Bill loudly, stuffing his mouth with bread.

"Us," said Isabel, "round the table. It would be so fascinating in
twenty years' time."

Bill screwed up his eyes and chewed. "Light's wrong," he said rudely,
"far too much yellow"; and went on eating. And that seemed to charm
Isabel, too.

But after supper they were all so tired they could do nothing but yawn
until it was late enough to go to bed...

It was not until William was waiting for his taxi the next afternoon
that he found himself alone with Isabel. When he brought his suit-case
down into the hall, Isabel left the others and went over to him. She
stooped down and picked up the suit-case. "What a weight!" she said, and
she gave a little awkward laugh. "Let me carry it! To the gate."

"No, why should you?" said William. "Of course, not. Give it to me."

"Oh, please, do let me," said Isabel. "I want to, really." They walked
together silently. William felt there was nothing to say now.

"There," said Isabel triumphantly, setting the suit-case down, and she
looked anxiously along the sandy road. "I hardly seem to have seen you
this time," she said breathlessly. "It's so short, isn't it? I feel
you've only just come. Next time--" The taxi came into sight. "I hope
they look after you properly in London. I'm so sorry the babies have
been out all day, but Miss Neil had arranged it. They'll hate missing
you. Poor William, going back to London." The taxi turned. "Good-bye!"
She gave him a little hurried kiss; she was gone.

Fields, trees, hedges streamed by. They shook through the empty,
blind-looking little town, ground up the steep pull to the station.

The train was in. William made straight for a first-class smoker, flung
back into the corner, but this time he let the papers alone. He folded
his arms against the dull, persistent gnawing, and began in his mind to
write a letter to Isabel.

*****

The post was late as usual. They sat outside the house in long chairs
under colou