“Thank you.” Words and tone were meek. Her eyes mocked him.

When she saw he was going to speak, she said with her best smile,

“How many girls have you said that to?”

“I’ve only just thought of it. It’s their loss.”

Something made her say a little more quickly than she meant to,

“We’re going away tomorrow.”

“We?”

“Penny and I.”

“Where?”

With the feeling of having reached nice firm, safe ground, Judy could relax. The smile came out again, bringing with it a rather pleasant dimple.

“We’re going to be a housemaid.”

“What!”

“A housemaid. In a nice safe village because of Penny. Their total casualties up to date are one goat in an outlying field.”

“Did you say a housemaid?”

“I did. And if you’re going to say I can do better than that-which is what everybody does say-you haven’t tried, and I have. If I hadn’t got Penny I could get dozens of jobs- but if I hadn’t got Penny I should be called up. And I have got Penny, so that’s that. And I’m going to keep her, so that’s another that. And when you’ve got all that straightened out you’ll find like I did that the only job you can get with a child is a domestic one-and you can only get that because people are so desperate they’ll do anything. Think how nice and appropriate it is, the policeman and the housemaid having supper together!”

Frank looked down his long nose and didn’t laugh.

“Must you?”

Judy nodded.

“Yes, I must. I haven’t a bean. Aunt Cathy was living on an annuity, though nobody knew it. By the time I’d got everything paid up there wasn’t anything left. John Fossett had nothing but his pay, so there’s nothing for Penny except a minute pension, and I want to save that up to pay for her going to school later on.”

Frank crumbled a piece of bread. What business had John and Nora Fossett to get killed in an air raid and leave Judy to fend for their brat? He said in an angry voice,