‘I s’pose _he_’d have adored Peter too. He and Julian were like that about children. I s’pose he’d have done everything for him. He was looking forward awfully.... It’s a pity really Peter’s not more like him--in looks I mean--not in----’ She checked herself. Mariella was talking of Charlie: in a small, shy but unreluctant voice, she was talking of him: she was preparing to say the things which it had seemed never could be said. In another few moments it would be possible to say gently: ‘Mariella, why did you marry him?’ She leaned her cheek on her elbow and continued: ‘I don’t really understand children.’ ‘But later on, Mariella, when he’s older you’ll be so happy with him,--doing things together. You’ll be such a marvellously young mother for him.’ ‘Oh, later on!’ was all she said; and added: ‘I don’t believe boys care much anyway about their mothers being young.’ If Julian had heard her say that, so shrewdly, would he not have been disconcerted? Judith turned to her, opened her mouth to speak. But then, as on another occasion, Martin burst in upon the pregnant moment--coming round the corner with a loud ‘Hullo!’--fresh, pink and cheerful from his bathe; and Mariella rose from Judith’s side, her lips lifted lightly to smile him an agreeable welcome, her whole customary manner enfolding her in one instant. ‘Hullo!’ she called back. ‘Did you have a nice bathe? We did, didn’t we, Judy?’ Empty little voice, with perhaps a trace of relief in it.... It was all over. They went back to find Julian. * * * * * They slipped back towards home along the chalky roads in an evening heavy with dark shadows. Martin drove in silence, and Judith sat beside him. Perhaps she would tell him to drive straight home without bothering to drop her; and then they might invite her to come in for a moment, and she would see Roddy--see for herself how ill he was. Martin turned and looked at her suddenly, and said with a nervous twitch of his mouth: ‘It is such fun seeing you again.’ ‘Such fun, Martin.’ ‘At Cambridge----’ He stopped. ‘Yes, Martin?’ ‘It was ghastly not seeing you oftener at Cambridge.’ ‘I know, Martin. It seemed so difficult with those disgusting rules. It was hopeless trying to see one’s friends.’ ‘It wasn’t my fault we didn’t meet oftener,’ he stammered out. ‘I wanted to. I thought you were fed up with me, so I kept away.’ ‘What made you think such a silly thing, Martin?’ He hesitated, and flushed. ‘Because I--didn’t get on--with your friends.’ She sighed. ‘You mean Jennifer?’ ‘Well--yes.’ ‘You didn’t like her, did you?’ Jennifer had always been at her worst when Martin was there.