“What is it?”

Catherine had made herself very comfortable on the window-seat.

“Well, really, Rietta! You know, sewing isn’t your line-it always puts you in a bad temper. You ought to be thankful to me for coming round and interrupting you.”

“Well, I’m not. I want to get this done.”

Catherine waved her cigarette.

“I’m not stopping you, darling-you go on pinning the thing together. I just thought I’d come around and ask you whether you’ve seen James yet.”

This time Rietta didn’t let herself frown. She had a moment of black rage, because of course this was what everyone in Melling was wanting to know. Then she said in the expressionless voice which goes with being angry,

“No. Why should I?”

“I don’t know-you might have. As a matter of fact I haven’t either, but of course he only came last night. I wonder what he’s like, and whether he’s worn as well as we have. You know, Rietta, if you took the least trouble, you could look-well, thirty-four.”

“I don’t in the least want to look thirty-four.”

Catherine’s dark blue eyes opened widely.

“What’s the good of saying a silly thing like that? What you need is colour-you always did-and a softer expression. You ought to practise in front of the glass.”

Rietta’s lip twitched. Her anger was gone. She could enjoy Catherine. A picture of herself practising soft expressions at a looking-glass assuaged her a good deal.

“We might practise them together,” she said.

Catherine blew out a light cloud of smoke.

“Now you’re laughing at me. I thought you were going to bite my head off when I came in. I do wonder if James has got fat. Such a pity if he has-he was so nicelooking. You did make a most awfully handsome couple-only of course he ought to have fallen in love with somebody fair like me. You know, it was very nice of me not to try and take him away from you.”