hered in Timmies."

"Nicky, you're a beastly sensualist. That's what's the matter with you,"
John said. And they all laughed.

The minute broke, stretched to its furthest.

* * * * *

Frances was making plans now for Nicky's week. There were things they
could do, plays they could see, places they could go to. Anthony would
let them have the big car as much as they wanted. For you could stretch
time out by filling it; you could multiply the hours by what they held.

"Ronny and I are going to get married to-morrow," Nicky said. "We
settled it that we would at once, if I got war-leave. It's the best
thing to do."

"Of course," Frances said, "it's the best thing to do."

But she had not allowed for it, nor for the pain it gave her. That pain
shocked her. It was awful to think that, after all her surrenders,
Nicky's happiness could give her pain. It meant that she had never let
go her secret hold. She had been a hypocrite to herself.

Nicky was talking on about it, excitedly, as he used to talk on about
his pleasures when he was a child.

If Dad'll let us have the racing car, we'll go down to Morfe. We can do
it in a day."

"My dear boy," Anthony said, "don't you know I've lent the house to the
Red Cross, and let the shooting?"

"I don't care. There's the little house in the village we can have. And
Harker and his wife can look after us."

"Harker gone to the War, and his wife's looking after his brother's
children somewhere. And I've put two Belgian refugees into it."

"_They_ can look after us," said Nicky. "We'll stay three days, run
back, and have one day at home before I sail."

Frances gave up her play with time. She was beaten.

And still she thought: "At least I shall have him one whole day."

And then she looked across the room to Michael, as if Michael's face
had signalled to her. His clear, sun-burnt skin showed blotches of white
where the blood had left it. A light sweat was on his forehead. When
their eyes met, he shifted his position to give himself an appearance
of ease.

Michael had not reckoned on his brother's marriage, either. It was when
he asked himself: "On what, then, _had_ he been reckoning?" that the
sweat broke out on his forehead.

He had not reckoned on anything. But the sudden realization of what he
might have reckoned on made him sick. He couldn't bear to think of Ronny
married. And yet again, he couldn't bear to think of Nicky not marrying
h