Miss Cole tossed her head.

‘Certainly, if that is your wish, Mr. Tattlecombe! Whether it’s on Miss Eversley’s face or on her front door, I’m sure it’s all one to me! And if I thought I had a duty and it’s been misunderstood, well, I’ve done what my conscience told me, and I shan’t mention it again!’

Abel hoped very much that this was true, but he was not very sanguine. Even his wife, estimable and deeply mourned, had been known to close an argument in this manner, only to reopen it as soon as she had thought of something more to say. He said, ‘I will speak to William Smith,’ and took refuge in his character of an invalid, alarming Miss Cole by groaning slightly, closing his eyes, and leaning back against the pillow which happened to be uppermost.

Heart-smitten and alarmed, she retired in disorder to find Mrs. Salt. As she came out upon the landing, a black skirt disappeared into the room opposite. A big bony hand remained in view for a moment. It had been closing the door. It now withdrew. The latch clicked home.

Miss Cole, who knew all about Emily Salt, did not bother her head – Emily always tried to get out of the way if anyone came to the house. She found Abigail,‘hoped she hadn’t tired Mr. Tattlecombe, and hastened to be gone.

Abigail Salt went up with a cup of Benger’s. She met Emily coming down with a queer sly look on her face, and didn’t like it. Sometimes Emily worried her. She went on in to Abel, and found him angry.

‘That woman talks too much, Abby.’

‘Most people do,’ said Abigail Salt.

William and Katharine sat by the fire and talked. Mr. Tattlecombe would have approved of their demeanour. William had a writing-block and pencil, and appeared to be entirely concentrated on doing sums. Although she was sharing the sofa, Katharine was not even touching him except with a fold of her dress and the look which dwelt sweetly and with a tinge of humour upon a serious and rugged profile. The single young man and the single young woman were, in fact, engaged upon computing a double income and deciding whether it justified them in getting married without waiting for the Wurzel toys to boom. For the purposes of this computation they had taken their joint salaries, and Katharine had confessed rather tentatively to a private income of two hundred pounds a year. To her relief, this was received with approval, William obviously considering with perfect simplicity that it would make it easier for them to get married, and was therefore a very good thing.

Since this had gone down so well, she followed it up with a casual, ‘I’ve put it rather low – it’s always been more than that really. But there was a hitch this year – some of the things didn’t pay. That was one of the reasons why I had to let my flat.’

He looked up frowning.

‘What do you pay for this one?’

‘Well, Carol didn’t really want to take anything. She didn’t want to let. She said there was always a chance the roof might fall in. They had a land mine about a quarter of a mile away, and there’s an idea that it rather shook the whole of this place up.’

The frown deepened.

‘I don’t like your living in a place where the roof might fall in.’

‘Darling, I think Carol was just trying to push the flat on to me without taking any rent for it.’

‘But she ought to be getting rent for it. I mean, it’s all right for you, but when we get married, it will be my business to pay the rent. How long is she going to be away?’

‘You never know with Carol. That’s partly why she didn’t want to let. She’s gone off to get material for the sort of book she writes – A Roamer in Rome, or, Tramps in Tanganyika, you know. She does it awfully well, with little pen and ink sketches. And sometimes she gets what she wants in six weeks, and sometimes she just stays on and on letting it all soak in.’

William put down two pounds a week for ‘rent of flat’. He remarked that it might be very inconvenient if they had to turn out at a moment’s notice.

Katharine said, ‘We might be able to get back into my own flat.’

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she realized that she ought to have kept them in. William immediately wanted to know where it was, how many rooms it had, and what the rent would be. When she told him he said with decision that it would be a good deal too expensive, but they could be looking about for something else.

He finished their budget, looked at her very seriously, and said,

‘We can do it easily. How soon will you marry me?’

‘As soon as you like, William.’

‘If you really mean that, we could make it next Saturday. That would give us the weekend.’ He dropped his pencil and paper and took her hands. ‘Am I hurrying you? Is it too soon?’

The colour came up into her face and her eyes shone.

‘No, it isn’t too soon.’

He put his arms round her.

‘Oh, Katharine!’ And quite a long time after that, ‘I’ll tell Mr. Tattlecombe tomorrow.’

The interview with Mr. Tattlecombe went off well. Abel had a gratified feeling that his advice had been followed. A little more rapidly perhaps than he had contemplated, but it was good advice and William was following it. A single young man was exposed to temptations. The Lord had provided the institution of marriage. William Smith would make a good husband. If the young woman was respectable and discreet, the marriage would be blessed. Not even to himself would Mr. Tattlecombe admit the secret fear which sometimes presented itself, that William might get tired of the Toy Bazaar and seek opportunities in a larger sphere. The nearest he got to it was the thought that marriage settled a man.

He was, therefore, gracious and urbane, invited William to bring Miss Eversley to see him, and withheld the comments he might otherwise have made when he discovered how very little William knew about her family or her upbringing.

‘She was in the A.T.S. during the. War. I don’t think she has many relations. The partners in Eversleys are some connection, but I think it’s fairly distant. You remember I went to see them about the Wurzel toys, but the secretary said they wouldn’t be interested.’

Abel nodded. Families were like that. Some of them went up in the world, and some went down. Those that went down dropped out. It wouldn’t be likely that the Eversleys would be taking any interest. Having the same name didn’t get you very far. Nor having grand relations. What mattered was whether the young woman had good principles and the kind of disposition which made a man happy in his home. He said so.

When William came away he had a few words with Abigail Salt, and arranged with her to bring Katharine straight on from the shop next day. Abigail’s calm, decided manner relaxed sufficiently to display quite a human interest.

Emily Salt did not appear at all. For the first time since he had been coming to the house William left it without being made aware of her presence. There had been no furtive step just round the corner, no door that closed as he came up to it, no tall shape disappearing into an empty room, no bony features peering down from an upper landing, grotesquely illuminated by light striking from below. It was rather like going to a haunted house and finding the ghost away from home. He did not really think about it consciously, but he had that sort of feeling.

He walked down the street past the place where he had been, to quote Mr. Tattlecombe, ‘struck down’, and round the corner into Morden Road, which was better lighted and altogether busier, since it ran out into High Street. At the far end it developed shops and became quite crowded. It was in his mind to cross the High Street and take a bus. Quite a number of people seemed to have had the same idea.