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Kitty returned to No. 7 Vernor Street about half-past five. She found Corah in charge of the shop.

“Mother in?”

“Yes,—upstairs.”

Mrs Sarah was having tea. She had waited half an hour for Kitty, but when no Kitty had appeared she had sat down to read a novel, and eat nut-cake or some abomination that the food-shortage had imposed upon the people at home. She was not worrying about Kitty. Her daughters were two responsible and level-headed young women, each of whom owned a latchkey, for Mrs Sarah contended that if a girl was not to be trusted with a latchkey—well—as a mother you had somehow failed. Mrs Sarah did not dwell with the suppressionists. She had smacked her daughters well and wisely in their early days, and that had sufficed.

Kitty came into the room as though nothing had happened, and took off her hat, and saw her mother still crumbling cake of a dismal and branny dryness.

“O, you poor dear!”

For Mrs Sarah did enjoy sweet things, cream buns, and chocolate cakes, and macaroons.

“Had a good time, poppet?”

“Very.”

Kitty sat down, and Mrs Sarah went on crumbling cake. The old adage held. Ask no leading questions and you will be told no lies, but Mrs Sarah had improved upon that somewhat cynical saying. Smile, and don’t fuss, and the truth will come and sit in your lap. Kitty looked just a little flushed, and her eyes had a peculiar, bright seriousness.

“Had tea, poppet?”

“Yes, we had tea at Rumpelmayer’s.”

Her mother noticed the “we”. Kitty had not been addicted to plurals. Always she had shown a preference for the independent and satisfying “I”.

“A nice boy—that. Nice manners.”

Kitty got up and stood by the window. She could see Fream’s Hotel, and the stone spire and the old blackened red walls and grey ashlar quoins of St. James’s church. The sun was striking the gold vane and the stone ball at the top of the spire. Half a dozen plane-trees showed a powdering of green. How things seemed to change! Or—rather—it was you or your mood that changed. Meanwhile Mrs Sarah had finished her dry cake, and had laid aside her book. She knew that some things happen very suddenly.

“Mother,” said Kitty, “I don’t know yet—but I think—.”

“Serious, poppet?”

“Just as serious as it could be.”

“You sudden thing,—come and kiss me.”