Isabel wasn't as happy as he. God, what
blindness! He hadn't the remotest notion in those days that she really
hated that inconvenient little house, that she thought the fat Nanny
was ruining the babies, that she was desperately lonely, pining for new
people and new music and pictures and so on. If they hadn't gone to that
studio party at Moira Morrison's--if Moira Morrison hadn't said as they
were leaving, "I'm going to rescue your wife, selfish man. She's like
an exquisite little Titania"--if Isabel hadn't gone with Moira to
Paris--if--if...

The train stopped at another station. Bettingford. Good heavens! They'd
be there in ten minutes. William stuffed that papers back into his
pockets; the young man opposite had long since disappeared. Now the
other two got out. The late afternoon sun shone on women in cotton
frocks and little sunburnt, barefoot children. It blazed on a silky
yellow flower with coarse leaves which sprawled over a bank of rock. The
air ruffling through the window smelled of the sea. Had Isabel the same
crowd with her this week-end, wondered William?

And he remembered the holidays they used to have, the four of them, with
a little farm girl, Rose, to look after the babies. Isabel wore a jersey
and her hair in a plait; she looked about fourteen. Lord! how his nose
used to peel! And the amount they ate, and the amount they slept in that
immense feather bed with their feet locked together... William couldn't
help a grim smile as he thought of Isabel's horror if she knew the full
extent of his sentimentality.

*****

"Hillo, William!" She was at the station after all, standing just as he
had imagined, apart from the others, and--William's heart leapt--she was
alone.

"Hallo, Isabel!" William stared. He thought she looked so beautiful that
he had to say something, "You look very cool."

"Do I?" said Isabel. "I don't feel very cool. Come along, your horrid
old train is late. The taxi's outside." She put her hand lightly on his
arm as they passed the ticket collector. "We've all come to meet you,"
she said. "But we've left Bobby Kane at the sweet shop, to be called
for."

"Oh!" said William. It was all he could say for the moment.

There in the glare waited the taxi, with Bill Hunt and Dennis Green
sprawling on one side, their hats tilted over their faces, while on the
other, Moira Morrison, in a bonnet like a huge strawberry, jumped up and
down.

"No ice! No ice! No ice!" she shouted gaily.