She looked down at the heaped ash which choked the fireplace. Some of it still kept the shape of those folded letters. The curled edges wavered in the chimney-draught, a few red sparks ran to and fro, hurrying to be gone. She frowned at them, stern and pale.

James was speaking.

“I had to turn everything out because I was looking for a memorandum my mother left me-a very interesting memorandum.” He laughed a little. “Everyone is going to hear a good deal more about it before we are through.” Malice sparkled in his eyes. “Here it is, on the table, and some people would be glad if it wasn’t. It would reassure them a good deal if they could be certain that it was in ashes like your letters. I found them, you know, when I was looking for it. They were locked up where I left them when I went away. And this with them.”

He put the paper he was holding into her hand-an old will-form, yellowing. She stared at it, uncomprehending at first, then with surprise and discomfort.

“James-how absurd!”

He laughed.

“It is rather, isn’t it? ‘Everything to Henrietta Cray, the White Cottage, Melling.’ My mother had the life-rent of what my father left, and a power of disposal, so at the time I made this will I was leaving you some school prizes, a valued collection of football groups, and my not very extensive wardrobe. The comic thing is that I have never made another will, so if young Carr were to murder me tonight, you would come in for quite a tidy fortune.”

She said quietly, “I don’t like that kind of talk. Anyhow, here it goes-”

The paper dropped from her hand on to the piled ash, but before it had time to catch James Lessiter snatched it back.

“No, you don’t, my dear! That’s my property. Don’t you know it’s a criminal offence to destroy a will? I don’t know how many years penal servitude it lets you in for-you might ask Holderness next time you see him.”

She said in a tone of dislike,

“James, it’s ridiculous. Please burn it.”

He stood there half laughing with the paper in his hand held up high as if they were boy and girl again and she might catch at it. In a moment his expression changed. He reached across the table and put the will down on the blotting-pad. Then he turned back to her and said soberly,

“I don’t know anyone I’d rather leave it to, Rietta.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Is it? I don’t think so. I’ve no relations except a distant cousin or two about the same degree as Catherine-and you. They don’t interest me. I shan’t marry-I have no qualifications for the domestic hearth, and no desire to found that tiresome thing, a family.” His tone lightened again. “What would you do if it came to you? It’s quite a packet.”

She stood up straight and frowning.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Please put that paper on the fire.”

He burst out laughing.

“You don’t get much fun out of life-do you? Relax and discuss a hypothetical case with me-a purely hypothetical case, because I assure you that I mean to live to be a hundred, and a conscience like yours will nag you into your grave long before that. But it would interest me very much to know just how you would react to-well, to coming into a packet.”

They had to talk about something. She wanted to be reasonably sure that Carr was only walking off his passion. She allowed herself to relax, and said,

“That would depend-”

“How truly cautious! It would depend on what I mean by a packet? Well, let us say enough to run this place on quite a lavish scale. Would you want to live here?”

She laughed frankly.

“I should hate it. I like my cottage.”

“No urge to go elsewhere and make a splash?”

“My dear James!”

He was leaning back against the table again, his eyes bright, his lips smiling.

“Then what would you do with it? You’ve got to do something-in my hypothetical case.”

She said in a considering voice,

“There are such a lot of people who haven’t any homes. Nobody wants them. They drift into cheap bed-sitting rooms and shrivel up. I thought some of the big country houses might be run on communal lines-a lot of comfortable bed-sitting rooms, and the big public rooms for meals and recreation-”

He nodded, and then laughed.

“A hennery! I don’t envy you the running of it. Just think how they’d scratch each other’s eyes out!”

“Why should they? And I wouldn’t only have women. Men want homes even more-they can’t make them for themselves.” She held out her hand. “And now, James, please burn that paper.”

He shook his head, smiling.

“It’s my will, and none of your business. If I’d ever cared enough, I’d have made another years ago. I just haven’t bothered. But if I did bother, I’ve an idea that I should do the same thing all over again.”

He got a very direct look.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you. Stand by to receive a bouquet. There was love’s young dream, as I said-and, believe it or not, I never managed to repeat it. I’ve made love to quite a number of charming women, and I’ve enjoyed myself, but if I may say so, the contacts were-on a different plane. The idyllic note was-well, lacking. The other ladies bore no resemblance whatever to Pallas Athene. Without any desire to return to the uncomfortable period of youth, it has in retrospect a certain charm. You, as it were, personify that charm.”

“You know perfectly well I’ve never had an atom of charm.”

“Ars est celare artem. Do you know, when you said that you made me feel like a boy again.”

She laughed.

“You used to tell me I was as blunt as a poker. I am still. I never did have any tact, so you must just take me the way I am. There’s something I want to say to you. It’s about Catherine.”

Outside upon the steps, leaning against the glass door, Catherine Welby heard her own name. At the top of the window above her head there was one of the old star-shaped ventilators dating from the discovery round about 1880 that fresh air was not necessarily lethal. The ventilator was open, the voices of the two people in the study were vigorous and resonant. She had heard a good deal. She now heard James Lessiter say,

“What about Catherine?”

Rietta took a step forward.

“James-don’t harry her.”

“My dear girl, she’s a thief.”

Catherine was wrapped in a long black cloak. It was very warm, because it was lined with fur. Mildred Lessiter had given it to her long ago. The fur was still good and warm. Inside it her body shrank with cold.

“She’s a thief.”

“You’ve no right to say that!”

“I think I have. Here’s my mother’s memorandum-you can read it if you like. She’s put everything down on it. Catherine was lying when she said the things were given to her. If she.can’t or won’t produce them, I shall prosecute.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I can, and will.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a thief.”

Rietta shook her head.

“It isn’t that. You’ve got something against her. What is it?”

“You don’t need me to tell you that. She broke our engagement-lied about me to you-”

“James, they weren’t lies!”

“She lied about both of us to my mother.”

She came up quite close to him and stood there at the side of the table, her right hand resting on it.

“James, those were not the things which broke our engagement. I broke it-when you killed your dog.”

A dark flush of anger had come up into his face. His jesting manner had gone.

“Did you expect me to keep a brute that had turned on me?”

“You frightened him and he snapped. You killed him- cruelly.”

“I suppose Catherine told you that.”

“No, it was one of the gardeners-he saw it. Catherine didn’t know. I’ve never told anyone.”

He said moodily, “What a fuss about a dog.” Then, with a resumption of his earlier manner, “I told you I paid my scores. I think I’m going to enjoy settling with Catherine.”

“James-please-”