he rug and balanced, for she felt incapable of moving.

Peter was coming home; if the worst came to the worst he would deal with
Hugo, and a respite would be gained. But Peter would go out to India
again and Hugo would not. The whole miserable business would be
repeated--and how could she continue to worry Peter with her affairs?
What claim had she upon him? As though she were some stranger seeing it
for the first time, Jan looked round the square, comfortable hall. She
saw it with new eyes sharpened by apprehension; yet everything was
solidly the same.

The floor with its draught-board pattern of large, square, black and
white stones; the old dark chairs; the high bookcases at each side of
the hearth; the wide staircase with its spacious, windowed turning and
shallow steps, so easily traversed by little feet; the whole steeped in
that atmosphere of friendly comfort that kind old houses get and keep.

Such a good place to be young in.

Such a happy place, so safe and sheltered and pleasant.

Outside the window a wren was calling to his mate with a note that
sounded just like a faint kiss; such a tender little song.

The swing door was opened noisily and Anne Chitt appeared bearing the
nursery tea-tray, deposited it in the nursery, opened the front door,
thumped on the gong and vanished again. Meg came out from the nursery
with two pairs of small slippers in her hand: "Where are my children? I
left little Fay with Earley while I finished the overalls; he's a most
efficient under-nurse--I suppose you left Tony with him too. Such a lot
of letters for you. Did you get your mail? I heard from both the boys.
Ah, sensible Earley's taking them round to the back door. Where's
William's duster? Hannah does make such a fuss about paw-marks." And
Meg, too, vanished through the swing door.

Slowly Jan dragged herself off the table, gathered up her unread
letters, and went into the nursery. She felt as though she were
dreadfully asleep and couldn't awake to realise the wholesome everyday
world around her.

Vaguely she stared round the room, the most charming room in Wren's End.
Panelled in wood long since painted white, with two delightful rounded
corner cupboards, it gave straight on to the wrens' sunk lawn from a big
French window with steps, an anachronism added by Miss Janet Ross. Five
years ago Anthony had brought a beautiful iron gate from Venice that
fitted into the archway, cut through the yew hedge and leading to the