rustration. Life was over, over, over, for her and she was to tell
stories of Nan, who had everything.

Then the mother in her rose up, to claim and grasp for her child, even
for the child she loved least.

"Nan? Nan was always a most dreadfully sensitive child, and
temperamental. She took after me, I'm afraid; the others were more like
their father. I remember when she was quite a little thing...."

Barry had asked for it. But he hadn't known that, out of the brilliant,
uncertain Nan, exciting as a Punch and Judy show, anything so tedious
could be spun....

3

Mrs. Hilary was up in town by herself for a day's shopping. The sales
were on at Barker's and Derry and Tom's. Mrs. Hilary wandered about these
shops, and even Ponting's and bought little bags, and presents for
everyone, remnants, oddments, underwear, some green silk for a frock for
Gerda, a shady hat for herself, a wonderful cushion for Grandmama with a
picture of the sea on it, a silk knitted jumper for Neville, of the same
purplish blue as her eyes. She was happy, going about like a bee from
flower to flower, gathering this honey for them all. She had come up
alone; she hadn't let Neville come with her. She had said she was going
to be an independent old woman. But what she really meant was that she
had proposed herself for tea with Rosalind in Campden Hill Square, and
wanted to be alone for that.

Rosalind had been surprised, for Mrs. Hilary seldom favoured her with a
visit. She had found the letter on the hall table when she and Gilbert
had come in from a dinner party two evenings ago.

"Your mother's coming to tea on Thursday, Gilbert. Tea with me. She says
she wants a talk. I feel flattered. She says nothing about wanting to see
you, so you'd better leave us alone, anyhow for a bit."

Rosalind's beautiful bistre-brown eyes smiled. She enjoyed her talks with
her mother-in-law; they furnished her with excellent material, to be
worked up later by the raconteuse's art into something too delicious
and absurd. She enjoyed, too, telling Mrs. Hilary the latest scandals;
she was so shocked and disgusted; and it was fun dropping little
accidental hints about Nan, and even about Gilbert. Anyhow, what a
treasure of a relic of the Victorian age! And how comic in her jealousy,
her ingenuous, futile boasting, her so readily exposed deceits! And how
she hated Rosalind herself, the painted, corrupt woman who was dragging
Gilbert down!

"Whatever does she want