Judith came and sat beside her on the bank, and continued: ‘Where shall you send Peter to school?’ Her face clouded over again, troubled and alarmed. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I haven’t thought. I’m not very good at that sort of thing. He’s so delicate and ... I suppose Julian will see about it.... I think he’s got some plans.... Of course Peter isn’t quite like other children because he’s so musical, Julian says....’ There was a long silence. The sun had dried their wet bodies, and they leisurely dressed again and continued to sit on the bank side by side, watching the flow of the water. The faintest ruffle of breeze had sprung up, and the sculptured fern cascades were coming to life, stirring now and then. The golden light on the beeches had become richer and more tender. ‘It must be very interesting to have a child,’ said Judith at last. ‘Oh, do you think so? Do you want one?’ Judith nodded. ‘I never wanted one.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I always thought puppies so much nicer than babies.’ ‘But what did you feel when your baby was born, Mariella?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t remember.’ Her lip quivered. ‘I didn’t feel much. I was awfully ill and--there seemed so many bothers going on. I didn’t see him for quite a long time and then--Oh, I don’t know! He was such an ugly miserable little baby and I simply couldn’t believe he was mine. It didn’t seem as if it could possibly be true that I had a baby. I just kept on thinking: What on earth am I to do with him? Then the doctor told me he might not live. And then I s’pose I suddenly wanted him to live.’ ‘Yes. You loved him.’ ‘I s’pose so.... I began to think of names for him.... And I thought after all it might be nice if he grew up and--and stopped being pale and thin. But he never has. Still we’re all more or less pasty faced, aren’t we? Then there was Julian ... and I thought--Oh, I don’t know.... Poor Grannie was dying and I took him to see her. She was so happy because he’d been born; because you know she absolutely adored----’ She stopped, her high unnatural little narrative voice failing abruptly. The simplicity, the pathos, the unreality of her life!... Judith felt the tears burn her lids as she remembered that strange marriage, the deaths of Charlie and of the grandmother--the only woman who had ever in all her life protected, cared for and advised her--and realized in what child-like bewilderment and dismay she had borne her child. She had never talked at such length or with so obvious a satisfaction in talking. For once, Mariella had things she needed to say. Judith put a hand lightly on hers as it lay on the grass. It quivered a moment, startled, then lay still, and Mariella turned her amazing eyes full on Judith. Sun and sky were mirrored in them so that they swam with more than their usual blind radiance, but the expression of her lips was tremulously pleased and grateful. Soon she sighed and said: