as
pledged to Terry, while she held herself unpledged. He was committed to
help Maisie--a distinctly unwise little lady for any bachelor to help.
As a third party to his problem, Lady Dawn intruded herself--though why
she should, he wasn't certain. He would have to see her, however much
Maisie dissuaded; it was right that she should know about her husband.
Yet was that the entire reason why he was so keen to see her? He assured
himself very earnestly that it was, and dismissed her from his mind.

For the rest of the journey home he conscientiously narrowed his
imaginings to thoughts of Terry.

IV

It was with thoughts of her that he fitted his key in the latch. The
Square was full of newly married couples, some of them little more than
boys and girls--youngsters who had waited impatiently and had run
together the moment war was ended. Others had been married just long
enough to be proudly parading their first baby. Every morning white
prams were wheeled out into the garden, there to be watched over by
softly spoken nurses. Every night, as dusk came down, expectant mothers
paced gently through the shadows, leaning on the arms of ex-officer
husbands. It wasn't only in the trees that nests were being built. The
Square's name might well have been changed to Honeymoon Square.

And now, as Tabs pushed the door open, preparing to enter, he knew that
all up and down the Square, behind the pall of darkness, other doors
were being pushed back. Young couples were coming home from dinners and
theaters. He could hear the murmur of their laughter, subdued and
secret, hinting at intimacies of affection. The men had misplaced their
latch-key perhaps; the girls were advising that they search another
pocket. Or the lock refused to turn and the girls were whispering how it
could be persuaded. Some of them were arriving in taxis; others, less
lucky or more economic, were tripping by on foot along the pavement. He
noticed how closely they clung together and he thought of Terry. It
would be jolly to be young, to build a nest and, by and by, to see your
own white pram wheeled out to take its place in the blowy greenness of
the garden. He withdrew his key and entered, closing the door behind
him.

The house was very still. It was nearly midnight. The maids had gone to
bed, leaving lights in the hall and on the landings. As he hung up his
hat, the stillness was broken by the sudden ringing of the telephone. It
rang in a peevish, scoldin