He slept long and dreamlessly, waking in the morning to find the sun shining brilliantly through Mrs. Barrow’s lace curtains. At first he could not remember where he was, so completely had sleep, bred of long fatigue, obliterated his consciousness. Before he opened his eyes he had half expected to hear the noise of Widdup turning out of bed with a flop, or the clangour of the six-thirty bell. And then, with a rush, the whole situation came back to him: this was Halesby, and the new day might be full of tragedy. At his bedside Miss Beecock, who had stolen into the room an hour or so before in slippered feet and found him sleeping, had placed a glass of creamy milk and biscuits. It was awfully kind of her, Edwin thought, as he sipped the yellow cream at the top of the glass. Outside in the garden it was very quiet. He had overslept the morning chorus of birdsong; but he heard the noise of a thrush cracking snail-shells on the gravel path beneath his window. He had forgotten to wind up his watch overnight; and when he found it in his waistcoat pocket where he had left it he saw that it had stopped. “I’d better get up, anyway,” he thought, and while he stood at the door wondering if Mrs. Barrow’s house ran to a bathroom, he heard a clock in the hall give a loud whirr and then strike ten. “Good Lord, I’ve overslept myself,” he thought. “I’d better buck up.” Abandoning the uncertainty of hunting for a bath he dressed and came downstairs to the sitting-room (that was what it was called) in which the meals had been served the day before. Mrs. Barrow was sitting there in pleasant sunlight, wearing a less elaborate cap and a shetland shawl, and the canary, whose brass cage and saffron plumage now shone brilliantly in the morning sunlight, was singing like mad. When Edwin came into the room she smiled at him. “We’re so glad that you slept well,” she said. “Miss Beecock went to have a look at you but you were sleeping so soundly that she didn’t like to disturb you. You must have been tired out. Now you’ll be ready for breakfast.” At this point Miss Beecock entered the room, her attire modified in the same degree as that of Mrs. Barrow. “Ah . . .” she said with a little laugh. “Here you are. I must ask Annie for your breakfast.” “He’d like a nice brown egg, lightly boiled, and some buttered toast,” said Mrs. Barrow temptingly. “Yes, of course he would,” said Miss Beecock. “I think if you don’t mind,” said Edwin, “I’d like to go home. It’s so late.” “Oh, you needn’t mind us,” chimed the two old ladies. That wasn’t exactly what Edwin had meant, but he allowed himself to be persuaded, and even enjoyed his breakfast, to the accompaniment of the twitterings of the canary and his two hostesses.