‘I forget. When you look at me with your enormous eyes I forget everything I mean to say.’ The gramophone stopped abruptly, with a hideous snarl; and the form of Julian darted forth like a serpent upon them. ‘You’ve waked the boy with that damned noise,’ he said. ‘I knew you would.’ He was gone; and in the succeeding shock of quiet the wail of Peter floated down to them. Quick footsteps sounded in the room above; and suddenly there was silence. ‘Oh, Roddy, he was cross.’ ‘Yes,’ said Roddy indifferently. ‘He’s fussier than twenty old Nannies. The brat’s nurse has gone to see her sister buried, so he’s looking after him.’ ‘It’s funny how Julian seems to take charge of him, rather than Mariella.’ ‘Oh, Julian’s always got to know best. I expect he told her she couldn’t be trusted with him. I believe they had words,--I don’t know. Anyway she went off to London this afternoon to a dog show or something, and left Julian triumphant.’ Roddy chuckled. ‘God, he’s a peculiar man.’ ‘I never can believe that baby belongs to Mariella--and Charlie.’ But he gave her no response to that; although, as she spoke the name, with stars, lights, voices, music, his shadowed face, all that was lovely life around her, the pathos of that death struck her so wildly it seemed he must feel it too and draw closer to her. How he watched her! ‘Roddy, what are you thinking about?’ She pleaded silently, suffocated with strange excitement: ‘Let us be frank. There’ll never be another night like this and soon we’ll be dead too. On such a night let us not miss one delight, let us speak the truth and not be afraid. Tell me you love me and I will tell you. You know it’s true to-night. Never mind to-morrow.’ But he shook his head slowly, smiling. ‘I never tell.’ She turned to go into the house. ‘Nor I. But I think one day I will,--tell somebody, one person, something--the truth, just once,--just to see how it feels.’ He followed her in silence into the house. * * * * * Martin and Tony were lying in arm-chairs, looking sleepy. ‘Poor things--longing to go to bed. It’s all right, I’m going now. I want to say good-night to Julian.’ On such a night Julian must not be left angry, alone. There must be no failure on her part at least. ‘He’s with Peter.’ ‘In his old room?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I know. I’ll be back in a minute.’ She ran up the stairs. Dimmed light streamed through a door ajar in front of her. It was the room where Julian and Charlie had slept years ago. Softly she pushed the door open. Julian sat by the window with the child on his knees. He had thrown a shawl over his head and out of its folds the pale face peeped, owl-like and still. In his little night-suit he looked absurd and touching. Julian raised a face so haggard and suffering that she paused, half-ashamed, uncertain what to say or do. ‘Come in, Judith,’ he said. ‘Only for a minute.... Won’t he sleep?’