Margery did not know. And she had other things to think of. Tomorrow she must speak seriously to Emily. Emily, like all these young women, had started excellently, but was becoming slack. And impertinent, sometimes. But one must be careful. Just now was not the time to frighten her away. Then Trueman’s man was coming for the curtains in the morning; they must be got ready. And there was a mountain of needlework to be done. And she must run through Stephen’s clothes again⁠—before she was too ill for it. Only a month more now, perhaps less. That was a blessing. She was not frightened this time⁠—not like the first time, with little Joan⁠—that had been rather terrifying⁠—not knowing quite what it was like. But it was a long, interminable business; for such ages, it seemed, you had to “be careful,” not play tennis, or go out to dinner just when you wanted to. You felt a fool sometimes, inventing reasons for not doing things, when of course there was only one reason. And so ugly⁠—especially in London⁠ ⁠… going about in shops⁠ ⁠… and Tubes.

Never mind. It was worth it. And afterwards.⁠ ⁠…