Sally turned away from Neville. "All right, let's get this thing straight," she said. "I don't feel I've got all the data. When did you start falling for Ernie Fletcher?"

"I didn't. Only he was so attractive, and - and he had a sort of sympathetic understanding. Almost a touch of the feminine, but not quite that, either. I can't explain. Ernie made you feel as though you were made of very brittle, precious porcelain."

"That must have added excitement to your life," said Neville reflectively.

"Shut up! Go on, Helen! When did it all begin?"

"Oh, I don't know! I suppose from the moment I first got to know him - to know him properly, I mean. You mustn't think that he - that he made love to me, because he didn't. It wasn't till just lately that I realised what he wanted. I thought - oh, I don't know what I thought!"

"You didn't think anything," explained Neville kindly. "You floated away on a sea of golden syrup."

"That's probably true," said Sally. "You were obviously right under the ether. What did John think, if anything?"

Her sister coloured, and averted her face. "I don't know. John and I - had drifted apart - before Ernie came into my life."

Neville, apparently overcome, sank into a chair, and covered his face with his hands. "Oh God, Oh God!" he moaned. "I'm being dragged into this repulsive syrup! Dearest, let us drift apart - me out of your life, before I start mouthing cliches too. I know it's insidious."

"I must say," remarked Sally, fair-mindedly, "that I rather bar "drifted apart" and "came into my life" myself Helen, do try not to sentimentalise yourself; it all looks too darned serious to me. I thought you and John weren't hitting it off any too well. Some women don't know when they've struck ore. What went wrong between you? I should have thought John was the answer to any maiden's prayer."