‘Katharine, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I wanted you to remember.’

‘Suppose I hadn’t?’

‘I would have told you today anyhow. Miss Silver said I must.’

‘Miss Silver? What did you tell her?’

‘Everything. She seemed to know most of it already.’

‘How could she?’

‘She puts things together. She said I’d got to tell you. And I was going to, only I hoped you’d remember first – and you have.’

There was a long pause before he said,

‘I didn’t really forget you.’

‘I know you didn’t.’

‘I loved you the minute you came into the shop. I hadn’t ever stopped loving you. It was there all the time, and then – you came – ’ His voice broke. ‘Katharine, why didn’t you tell me?’

She said very softly, ‘Silly! How could I walk into a shop and say to William Smith, “You don’t think you’ve ever seen me before, but I’m your wife”?’ She put her cheek against his. ‘What would Miss Cole have said!’

William thought of several things that Miss Cole might have said. They laughed together with the sort of laughter which comes like a ripple on the surface of emotion. It came, and it went. Katharine said,

‘I wanted you to fall in love with me all over again, and when you did I wanted you to marry me. I thought you would remember then, but you didn’t, and every day you didn’t it was harder to tell you. But I would have told you today. It wouldn’t have been fair to let you go on being William Smith.’

He said slowly, ‘No – it wouldn’t have been fair.’ And then, ‘I say, Kath, there’s going to be a bit of a mess to clear up. I’ve been thinking – ’

‘Don’t think too much.’

He gave his head the quick impatient shake which had always reminded her of a dog coming out of the water.

‘I’ve been thinking – that time I went to Eversleys and saw Miss Jones – she must have known me. Or do you think – ’

‘No, I don’t. You haven’t changed a bit. You never have, and I don’t suppose you ever will.’

Like an echo there came back out of the past her own voice saying on a note of anger, ‘It’s no use, William never changes!’ It was something she wanted to do and he wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t remember what it was, but she could remember being ten years old, and angry, and saying, ‘William never changes!’

She came back to Mr. Davies’ name.

‘Old Davies knew me – at least I suppose he did. He bumped into me in the street. He nearly dropped, and he asked me who I was.’

‘And you said William Smith, Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar, Ellery Street. And first he thought you were a ghost, and then he went and found a call-box and rang me up.’

‘He rang you up?’

She said, ‘That’s how I knew,’ and hid her face against him.

It was a little while before they got back to Miss Jones.

‘You know,’ Katharine said, ‘it was very odd her giving you such a late appointment. You signed your letter “William Smith”, and I can’t help thinking that she recognised the “William”. Not enough to be sure, but enough to make her give you that late appointment when practically everyone else would have gone. They shut at half-past five nominally. Mr. Davies used to hang about a bit. That evening he’d forgotten something and came back, poor old boy.’

‘Why poor old boy?’

‘He’s dead, William.’

‘How?’

‘He had a street accident on December the seventh.’

He repeated the date, ‘December the seventh – ’

‘The day after he saw you.’

‘The day after he recognized me?’

‘Yes.’

There was a pause. Then William said,

‘He did recognize me?’

‘Yes, He rang me up and said, “I’ve just seen Mr. William.”’

‘Do you think he said that to anyone else?’

‘I don’t know. He went to the office next day, and he went away in the evening. On the way home he was knocked down at a street-crossing and taken to hospital. He never recovered consciousness. I didn’t hear about it until ten days ago. Bunny told me. It was the day I had extra time off. I lunched with Cyril. Brett and Bunny were there. There had been a bit of a hold-up about my money and Bunny had come up to see about it. We went away together in a taxi, and he told me the money would be all right now, but to let him know if it wasn’t. They had been telling him Mr. Davies had muddled things up. William, I can’t forgive them for that.’

‘Katharine – what are you saying?’

‘They said he was past his work, and that he had muddled up the accounts. Bunny told me. And he told me that Mr. Davies was dead. I didn’t know till then. I went back to the flat and rang up Miss Jones. She told me about the accident, and when I pressed her I got the date. It was the seventh of December.’

There was a pause. Then he said,

‘Davies came to the office that day?’

‘Yes.’

He began, ‘Do you suppose – ’ and then broke off.

Katharine answered what he hadn’t said.

‘I don’t know. I wrote to say not to tell anyone about seeing you. He would have had my letter that evening, but he never got home. He went to the office on the seventh. Perhaps he didn’t tell anyone.’ She stopped. Then after quite a long time she said, ‘Perhaps he did.’

On the Saturday afternoon whilst William and Katharine were driving down to Ledstow Abigail Salt was having tea with Mr. Tattlecombe. He was half expecting that she would not come, and quite prepared to be in a huff about it. Influenza or no influenza, he didn’t see why she should dance attendance on Emily when her own flesh and blood with his leg only just out of a splint was expecting her. Human nature being what it is, he was almost disappointed when she turned up punctually to the moment and, taking off her coat and gloves, went into the little upstairs kitchen to make the tea – Mrs. Bastable having gone down to Ealing to see her husband’s eldest sister, who was a retired elementary schoolmistress.

Sipping his first cup, Abel reflected that it was extraordinary how much better the tea tasted, with the same water, the same tea-leaves, the same gas stove, and the same pot. Tea made by Abby was and probably always would be, superior to tea made by Mrs. Bastable. The same thing with coffee, with soup, with everything. He felt mollified and forgave her the sin of omission which, after all, she hadn’t committed. Emily had not been preferred, he himself had not been neglected. Abigail had made buttered toast of a very superlative kind. He remembered with a shudder that Mrs. Bastable had offered to make it before she went and leave it ‘keeping hot’. He had been rather firm with her about that, and she had departed sniffing.

He ate Abigail’s toast with a good deal of satisfaction whilst she explained how kind it was of Miss Simpson to come in and keep an eye on Emily. ‘She was round to enquire last night, and when I mentioned that you were expecting me today and I didn’t know quite what to do about it, she offered at once. Ellen Simpson’s a good friend, though I don’t say she hasn’t got trying ways sometimes, but I suppose we’re all like that. It isn’t everybody I could leave with Emily, even if she’s pretty much herself again – up yesterday and most of today, though she hasn’t been out. But I told her she’d better be lying down in her own room whilst I was out, and I gave her the wireless. If she wanted anything, I told her, Ellen would be just across the passage in the parlour and she’d bring her her tea, but better not try and talk too much – they might get disagreeing about something.’

This was such a long speech for Abigail that Abel Tattlecombe began to feel very faintly disturbed. He was no more interested in Ellen Simpson than he was in Emily Salt. He didn’t mind which of them had been left to look after the other, and Abby knew it. He wouldn’t have cared if they had been on desert islands or at the North Pole. Ellen Simpson had eyebrows that met in the middle, and she always contradicted everybody flat. When after his wife died she had started agreeing with him, and Abby had begun asking her to meet him at tea, he had been very much alarmed, and he had spoken out. Abby couldn’t possibly think that he wanted to talk about Ellen Simpson.