Felix found the conversation hard going, but he kept at it. He was not used to children, and as he sometimes listened to himself talking he found his tone of a jovial uncle horribly unnatural and patronizing. He could not imagine that he was making a very good impression, and their relations remained embarrassingly formal. Yet he was at the same time troubled by a continual sense of her exigence and his deficiency. He was still rather vague about her age, and simply could not bring himself, at this point, to reveal so shocking an ignorance to Ann. But although he now felt that the whole idea was a depressing mistake, he took it as his duty to get to know the child a little better. The trouble was, there were so many forbidden topics: everything, in fact, to do with her father and mother. This left Felix, as far as he could see, with books, school, animals, the countryside, and such few mutual acquaintances as could be mentioned with impunity. He soon ran through these subjects and had to start again at the beginning, trying in vain to interest Miranda in the content of the library, which were in fact mainly historical volumes which had belonged to Felix's, also military, father. But Miranda, unmoved by Pride and Prejudice, was not likely to become absorbed by Motley's Rise of the Dutch Republic.

In despair Felix decided he must supply her with some reading matter, if only in order to give himself some time off, and he drove to Canterbury with that end in view. But the bookshops provided no inspiration. He finally went to a newsagent's and brought a great pile of periodicals and women's magazines which he hoped would placate the child and keep her quiet. Then he had, before he left the town, another happy conjecture. He thought he would buy her a doll. Whatever age Miranda was, she was certainly still interested in dolls, and had had a large number of her 'little princes' brought over from Grayhallock to keep her company. Of course, for such a discriminating child, it must be no ordinary doll, and he wondered if he should not drive to London and see what Harrods could do. But a Canterbury shop in fact provided him straightaway with a distinguished little toy which seemed to him just right. It was a rag doll attired in the dress uniform of the Brigade of Guards, prettily turned out and complete with a sword and a very convincing bearskin. Felix congratulated himself. Even if he could not entertain Miranda he might at least give her some pleasure. He was, after all, more or less wooing her, and a wooer ought to bring gifts. For Felix never stopped being conscious of the influence which hostile Miranda might have upon his suit with Ann.

After a windy overcast morning it w. as raining again when he got back to Seton Blaise. He had missed Ann's visit, but arranged by telephone that he would go to see her later that evening at Grayhallock. He hoped that his thought for Miranda would please her. With the doll in his overcoat pocket he went to the library.

The lit lamps and the blazing fire gave the room a winter appearance which contrasted uncannily with the greenish yellowish light at the window and the lush wet garden outside. Gusts of rain crossed the lawn and lashed the house. Felix shivered, aware of a pain in his shoulder which might be rheumatism or perhaps just the bruise which he had received when, in catching Miranda, he had cannoned into Penn.

Miranda was lying as usual, stretched out and doing nothing. She was propped up on cushions and a rug covered her legs. Several dolls, dislodged no doubt by the child's restless tossing, had fallen down between her and the back of the settee so that she was half sitting on them. A row of protesting heads rose above her thigh.

'I'm so glad someone's come at last, said Miranda. 'I was getting so bored.

Someone's come, not you've come, thought Felix, discouraged. But he was glad he had got the doll.

'Have some tea with me, said Miranda, indicating the trolley. 'I asked for a spare cup in case anyone comed up.

'No, thanks. But you go on having yours, don't mind me.

'I've finished ages ago, she said, and pushed the trolley irritably away.

Felix took a chair and sat down near her. He felt the fiuniliar constraint, the fatal mask of brightness. 'And how's Miranda today?

'Terrible!

Felix laughed. 'Oh, I'm sure it's not as bad as that.

She was staring at him again in the disconcerting way children have. She lay back against the cushions with an air of languor, pale and yet with a thin warmth in her cheeks which made Felix think: again of the German measles. He supposed he ought to take her temperature, but he shrank from any close-quarters looking-after of her as from something obscene. And now with a slight distaste, almost disgust, he apprehended her immature girl's body spread out beside him, soft, formless, white, like a helpless larva. She was wearing n tartan dress with a neat little collar which made her look childish, yet her face was not exactly that of a child: it was not a woman's face either, but like the smooth ruthlessly innocent visage of some mythological creature, some little demi-goddess of the woods. Ah, he thought, I shall never win her.

'I've been to Canterbury, he said conversationally. 'I know. You said you were going.

'Did I? Ah well. How's the ankle feeling now? Any better?

'Dreadful, Felix.

Her rare use of his name always unnerved him a little. He glanced at her, met the stare, and looked away again. Her face certainly had something of Ann: the pale colouring, the delicacy of nose and mouth, the impression of a slightly strained nobility. Only Ann's worried look was absent, that look which summed rip for Felix so much of her concern for others. Miranda's face, with its frequent expression of triumphant mockery, and now in repose a certain stony aggressiveness, suggested rather the insolence of her father; and as Felix for a second sensed what was almost like the proximity of Randall's soul, he nearly started back from her.

Feeling guilty at this thought he said jovially, 'Better rescue those dolls, you know, before you squash them completely. He reached across her thigh and tried to pull the dolls out of their uncomfortable situation.

'Don't! said Miranda. She pushed his hand away, and began to lift the dolls out herself. She shook each one crossly as she did so as if to punish it.

How clumsy I am with children, thought Felix ruefully. I expect I simply annoy her, and am doing myself no good at all. He touched the doll in his pocket. He felt a little shy about giving it to her. She sat now looking at the dolls with an expression of apathy. Felix said, 'I'm going to Grayhallock tonight. Can I fetch you anything? Any more of the — er — little princes?

'No, thank you. She added fiercely, still looking at the dolls, 'I wish beastly Grayhallock didn't exist. .

'Come, come! said Felix, surprised and a little shocked by this outburst. 'Why have you got it in for poor old Grayhallock?

'Nothing ever happens there, said Miranda.

Felix thought this was an odd judgement, considering recent events. 'I should have thought where you were things would always be happening. In that, you take after your father, he continued to himself. God help the young men who love you. And those you love.

She just shook her head and posed the dolls upon the rug, spreading out their skirts.

'Whatever possessed you anyway to jump out of that tree? said Felix. He felt a sudden irritation with the hostile young person, an embryonic desire to spank her. He had not liked her remark about her home.

Miranda looked at him, and he saw in her face some strange reassembling of inner elements, like the moving of stage scenery behind a gauze curtain. She looked alert, wary, older.

She said after a moment, 'I felt, just then, entirely indifferent to life. Does that surprise you?