There was a pause. They faced each other in the middle of the road. His head was on one side and he didn’t seem to know where she was quite. Poor blind young man, she was sorry for him. He must be looked after. The awkwardness had fallen again between them. There was nothing to say. But she had agreed to come up to Swan’s Wood, which was one good thing. She was very nice. “Well, perhaps I had better be going back.” “Yes, an’ so had I.” “Good-bye.” “Good-bye.” And he began to walk home. Their first meeting was over. It had been terrifying. But they had walked arm in arm anyway. The touch and the warmth were so much finer when one was blind. And one was more frightened; still, her voice had been kind. She would come again right enough. He touched his blue glasses, he must be a sight. His steps sounded hollowly on the road, and he thought of a dream when he had run and run and run. But there had been no birds then, they had all been hushed. For suddenly the sun came out, and, warmed by him, a bird began to sing in little cascades of friendliness. How good the world was. He wanted his lunch. * * * * * Nanny sat by the fire. Shadows ran up and down the walls of her room, and it was very quiet in there except for her breathing and the murmuring kettle. Kettles were so companionable. On the table by her side was a cup of tea which steamed up at the ceiling, broadly at first, and then the steam narrowed down till at last it was lost in a pin-prick. It could not get so high. On the table was a patchwork cover, the heir-loom of her family. By the cup stood a tea-caddy and by that a spoon. The kettle spurted steam at the fender in sudden, angry bursts. It was close in her room because she never opened the window. Her black dress rose stiffly up against the heat, and the whalebone in her collar kept the chin from drooping. Little flames would come up to lick the kettle, and then the shadows on the wall would jump out of the room. But she sat straight and quiet as the people in the photographs round. She was of their time. Only her breathing, tired and hoarse, helped the kettle to break the quiet of the watching photographs. It wasn’t right his going out with her like this. This would be the third time he had gone out with her, and it wasn’t like Mrs. Haye to allow it; it ought to be stopped. At that age they could so easily fall in love with each other. And what would happen then? Young people always went into those things blind, they didn’t see what the consequences of their actions were. He ought to be more careful of whom he took up with. _His_ daughter, indeed. What would everyone be saying? And that _her_ boy should go out with that thing, him that she had brought up since he was a squalling baby, it was not right.