“Let us have something pleasant to remember it by, as well as all the horror,” said my mother.

Edward was now quite a person. He was very curious about everything, full of energy, quite fluent and very amusing. We all thought he was an exceptionally bright child, and it was a little more than prejudice, I do believe, that made us feel this.

He was interested in birthdays because they meant parties. He had been to one or two with other children in the neighborhood and now it was his turn.

We invited about ten local children. There was a cake with four candles, and Andrée and I, with help from my mother when she could spare the time, planned some games that would be suitable for the children.

Edward was devoted to Andrée, but I think he had a rather special feeling for me. I had always tried to be with him as much as possible. In spite of the fact that I myself had had an excellent nanny, my mother had always been closer to me than anyone else. I wanted Edward to feel the same about me. I wanted to make up for his mother’s callous desertion and the loss of his loving foster-mother. I did not want him to be deprived of anything in life.

I used to read a story to him every night before he went to sleep, and I knew how much he looked forward to that.

Andrée used to say, “He loves me as his nanny, but you as his mother.”

“Poor child,” I said. “How sad it all was for him.”

“Don’t expect me to feel pity for him!” she retorted. “I think he is one of the luckiest of children. Here he is, with every luxury…surrounded by love. He’s got your mother, you, me…and the servants all dote on him and would spoil him if I didn’t look out.”

“It’s because he is adorable.”

I could see she was thinking of her own childhood, which had been so different. Poor Andrée! I was so glad that she seemed happier with us.

There were ten children in all at the party. But the nursery was a big room. It would be the schoolroom later, as it had been such a short time ago when I had studied with Miss Carruthers. Books were stacked in the cupboard; the big table with the ink stains on it was covered by a white cloth. On it were jellies, tarts and scones, and in the place of honor, the birthday cake.

There was great fun with Edward’s trying to blow out the candles, and then the children crowded around and consumed the treats with relish. After the food was cleared away, we played games.

There was a good deal of laughing and shouting. “Pass the parcel” was a great favorite, with everyone shrieking with delight when the music stopped and the one who was holding the parcel took off another wrapper; there were more expressions of delight when the music started again and the parcel went on its way, to fall as a prize into the hands of the child who held it when the music finally stopped and a paint box was revealed.

They scrambled their way through “musical chairs” and “statues.” Andrée was a very good organizer and was able to control the children with the right amount of benevolent authority that is essential on such occasions.

As it was a fine day, we went into the garden and there they could run about as much as they wished. When it was time for the guests to go, Edward, standing beside me, received their thanks with dignity. Andrée had gone up to the nursery, and Edward and I were alone.

I smiled down at him. “It was a good party, wasn’t it?” I said.

“It was a good party.” He had a habit of repeating such statements as if he were in agreement with them.

“So now,” I went on, “you are well and truly four years old.”

“Next time I’ll be five.”

“Yes, five years old.”

“Then six, seven and eight.”

“You’re making the years go too quickly.”

“When I’m ten, I’ll go riding without James.”

“Yes, I daresay. Where do you like to ride best?”

“I like the forest best.”

“Do you ride there with Andrée?”

He nodded. “James, too. Sometimes just Andrée.”

“And you like that?”

He nodded again, “I like the forest.”

“Why?”

“Trees,” he said. “And people.”

“People?”

“The man.”

“What man?”

“Andrée’s man.”

“Andrée meets a man, does she?”

He nodded.

“What? Every time?”

“A lot of times. They talk. They walk the horses. Andrée keeps looking at me. She says, ‘Stay there, Edward.’ ”

“And do you stay there?”

He nodded.

“Do you know the man? Is he someone from the hospital?”

He shook his head vigorously.

“So, he’s a stranger?”

“He’s a stranger.” He mouthed the word and repeated it as he often did when he heard a word for the first time.

“The forest’s nice,” he said. “When I’m five I won’t have a leading rein. I’ll ride fast. I’ll gallop….”

“I am sure you will.”

I was thinking about Andrée’s meeting with a stranger. A man. Well, she was young; she was quite good-looking. It hadn’t occurred to me before that she might have an admirer.

We were halfway through September, and Robert was still with us. Dr. Egerton still was not entirely satisfied and thought that a little more rest was needed. He said he wanted to keep his eye on this patient for a little longer.

We were all relieved. Often I would feel Robert’s wistful eyes on me and I wanted then to do anything to comfort him. I was fully aware of how miserable I should be if he went away and what terrible anxiety I should suffer wondering what was happening to him. The third Battle of Ypres had begun and there was particularly bitter fighting at this time. The casualties were great. I used to shudder when bad cases were brought to us, and I always thought, That might have been Robert.

Sybil Egerton talked to me about him. We had grown accustomed to calling her Sybil now. “Mrs. Egerton” was too formal and she was no longer “Miss Carruthers.” She was at the hospital every day, arriving with her husband and staying until early evening. She was very efficient, practical, a little brisk and quite unsentimental. This suited some of those who were severely wounded, for she made them feel that they were not so badly off as they had imagined and that there were others far worse. She used to read to those whose eyesight was damaged, and it made my mother and me smile to see her in one of the little rooms with those who could get there, reading Dickens to them. It was like a small class and she was very much the schoolmistress, but it happened to be just the treatment they needed. Marrying the doctor had added to her stature.

She announced to me in her straightforward manner, “Robert Denver is in love with you.”

I did not answer and she went on. “He is a good man and you could not find anyone more suited to you.”

“I’ve known him all my life,” I said.

“So much the better. He is the antithesis of his sister.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure he would make you happy. Marriage is the ideal state…providing it is the right marriage.”

Having found satisfaction herself in this state, she felt herself qualified to help others to do likewise.

She was smiling wisely at me, indicating that if I needed any advice on the matter, I should come to her.

My mother also talked to me of Robert.

“It seems odd to want to hold back someone’s recovery, but I do hope Robert stays with us a little longer. Surely this miserable war must come to an end soon. He does care for you, you know.”

“Sybil was talking about him.”

“Oh, yes, she was telling me how pleased she would be to see you settled. I think you are very fond of Robert.”

“Yes, I am. He…he has asked me.”

“You haven’t said no.”

“I am not sure….”

“I see. He’s a good man, Lucinda. One of the best. He’s like his father. Who but Sir Robert would have put up with Belinda all these years?”

“I can’t be hurried into anything so serious.”

“You’re not still thinking of…?”

It was always thus between us. We knew each other’s minds so well that we followed the working of them without having to put it into words.