“The modern world has only vulgarised emotion by letting it loose. What we need is classic control.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, thinking of himself listening with vacant face to the emotional idiocy of the radio. “People pretend to have emotions, and they really feel nothing. I suppose that is being romantic.”

“Exactly!” he said.

As a matter of fact, he was tired. This evening had tired him. He would rather have been with his technical books, or his pit manager, or listening-in to the radio.

Mrs. Bolton came in with two glasses of malted milk: for Clifford, to make him sleep, and for Connie to fatten her again. It was a regular nightcap she had introduced.

Connie was glad to go, when she had drunk her glass, and thankful she needn’t help Clifford to bed. She took his glass and put it on the tray, then took the tray, to leave it outside.