Everything in Meade broke into answering laughter. Did he know that he had called her darling? Did he know what he had just said? Or had his tongue run away over a familiar course? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered whilst he looked at her like that. Her own tongue ran away too. She whispered,

“Hush! I’ll tell you a secret. She was a farmer’s daughter, and when she lets herself be she’s one still, and oh, so kind. She doesn’t know I know, but Uncle Godfrey let it out.”

Giles said, “I’d love to see her milking a cow.”

“But that’s what she’d like really. When they retire they’ll go into the country, and they’ll be much, much happier. I oughtn’t to have laughed-it was horrid of me. She tries to be grand because she thinks it’s good for Uncle Godfrey’s career. She’s been frightfully kind to me-you don’t know-”

He put an arm round her waist and jumped her down the last three steps into the hall.

“Give the conscience a rest,” he said in a teasing voice. “You’ve got some laughing to make up, haven’t you? Come along!”

On the entrance steps they met Agnes Lemming coming up. She carried a heavy shopping bag and she looked very tired- Agnes always did look tired. Her abundant brown hair was bundled into a black beret and hardly showed at all. Her face was colourless, with dark smudges under the eyes. She wore an unbecoming purple coat and skirt. Her steps dragged. It was not in Meade to pass her without a word. She said,

“Good-morning,” and, “This is Major Armitage.”

Agnes Lemming smiled. It was a very nice smile. Her brown eyes were soft and pleased.

“Yes, I know. I am so glad.” Then the smile went out. She went on in a nervous hurry. “I’m afraid I mustn’t stay-I am late. My mother will wonder where I’ve been, but I’ve had to wait so long for everything today-the shops were so crowded.”

As the car turned out into the road, Giles said,

“Who was that? Ought I to know her?”

Meade shook her head.

“Oh, no. She’s Agnes Lemming. They have one of the ground-floor flats.”

“Who beats her? Somebody does.”

“Her mother. I do honestly think Mrs. Lemming is the most selfish person in the world. She makes a slave of Agnes and nags at her all the time. I don’t know how she stands it.”

“She’s due to crack up any moment, I should say. Don’t let’s talk about her-let’s talk about us. You look a lot better today. Did you sleep?”

Meade nodded.

“You didn’t dream we were eloping, or anything like that?”

“I didn’t dream at all.”

He gave her a sharp sideways glance and said,

“Been dreaming a bit too much.”

She nodded again.

He took his left hand off the wheel and put it down over one of hers.

“That’s all finished with. Now we’re going to enjoy ourselves. You shall tell me everything we did and said in New York, and then I’ll give my mind to improving on it.”

She didn’t tell him everything, but she told him a good deal- all the pleasant outside things they had done-where they had dined, and where they had danced, and what plays they had seen.

It was when they were having lunch at a country roadhouse that she asked him suddenly,

“Do you know a girl called Carola Roland?”

Something happened when she said the name. She had an odd feeling that she had broken something, like throwing a stone into a pond and seeing the whole reflected picture of sky and trees break up. But that was just a feeling. What she actually saw was a tightening of the muscles about his throat and jaw. A small intent spark came and went in the bright blue eyes. He said slowly,

“You know, that kind of rang a bell. But I’m not there. Who is she?”

“She took one of the top-floor flats about a month ago. She’s an actress.”

“Young?”

“About five or six and twenty-perhaps a little more-I don’t know. She’s very pretty.”

“What like?”

“Golden hair, blue eyes, lovely figure.”

He burst out laughing.

“The perfect blonde-gentlemen prefer her! Is that it? Not my style, darling.”

“She’s frightfully pretty,” said Meade in a burst of generosity. “And-and-you mustn’t call me darling.”

“I didn’t know I had. Why mustn’t I? It’s extraordinarily easy.”

“You don’t mean it,” said Meade-“that’s why.”

He laughed.

“Break for refreshments! Here comes the waiter. The sweets look appalling. I should have cheese if I were you-we’ll both have cheese. It’s a serious food much better suited to a nice ethical problem than hair-oil jelly or paving-stone puffs. This seems to be honest unadulterated Cheddar-one of the things I haven’t forgotten. As the poet laureate would no doubt have said if he had happened to think of it:

And now that we are alone, why mustn’t I call you darling?”

Meade lifted her lashes, and dropped them again upon a sparkle.

“I told you why.”

“Did you?”

“You don’t mean it.”

He was buttering a biscuit.

“Look here, is this thought-reading? Because if it is, you’re right off your game. Try something easier. For instance, is this butter or margarine? It looks like butter, but it tastes like marge.”

“Perhaps it’s half and half.”

“Perhaps it is.” He leaned across the table. His eyes laughed into hers. “There you are, you’ve said it-half and half. Perhaps it is, darling.”

Meade said, “Oh!” It was just a soft breath. Her heart beat. She must play his game, and play it as lightly and easily as he did. If only she didn’t care so much. It would be pleasant and easy enough if she could go back, as he had gone back, to the first enchanted days when they were playing at love. That was what he had done. And all at once she found that she could do it too. She could meet the laugh in his eyes and give it back.

He said, “Half a loaf’s better than no bread, isn’t it? Presently we’ll have cake. Meanwhile, you know, it’s really a most interesting point-are we engaged or not? Because if we are, of course I call you darling, and I think you ought to call me something a little warmer than Giles. And if we’re not, why aren’t we? I mean, who broke it off? Did you? No, you didn’t, or you wouldn’t have come gallivanting out with me like this, and you wouldn’t have been in mourning because you thought I was dead, would you? Well then, are you going to tell me that I broke it off?”

She couldn’t look at him any longer. She wanted to laugh and cry. She wanted to cry with his arms round her. She said in a soft, quivering voice.

“Didn’t it just break of itself-when you forgot?”

“Of course it didn’t! You don’t break things by forgetting about them. Suppose we had been married, my having a bang on the head wouldn’t unmarry us, would it?… All right, I’m glad you see reason about that. Then it can’t disengage us. If you want to stop me calling you darling, you can just break it off.”

“Or you can.”

“Darling, why should I? I’m liking it most awfully. No, if you want it done you’ll have to do it yourself. I didn’t give you a ring, did I?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“Meanness-or lack of time? When did we actually get engaged?”

“The day we sailed.”

“How inartistic-no time for anything! But it lets me out on the score of being mean. It’s a pity you haven’t got a ring though, because it would be so easy for you to push it across the table and say, ‘All is over between us’, wouldn’t it?”

Laughter won the day.

“I can still say, ‘All is over between us’.”

“But you won’t, will you-not before we’ve had coffee? It would cast such a blight. Look here, I’ve got a splendid idea. We’ll go back to town and get you a ring, and then you can break it off with the proper trimmings. How’s that?”

“Perfectly mad,” said Meade.