When, directly after dinner, Winifred went over to kiss her father good night, he looked up with eyes so full of question and distress that she put all the comfort she could into her voice.

“It’s all right, Daddy, dear; don’t worry. I shan’t need anyone⁠—he’s quite bland. I shall only be upset if you worry. Good night, bless you!”

James repeated the words, “Bless you!” as if he did not quite know what they meant, and his eyes followed her to the door.

She reached home before nine, and went straight upstairs.

Dartie was lying on the bed in his dressing-room, fully redressed in a blue serge suit and pumps; his arms were crossed behind his head, and an extinct cigarette drooped from his mouth.