“Peter, that’s horrid!”

“Very. Fresh air and exercise strongly indicated. Outside interests lacking.”

“Oh, no, you’re wrong there-absolutely. It was one of the things that made people not like her very much. She didn’t take too little interest in other people’s affairs. It was quite the other way round-she took a great deal too much.”

Peter cocked an eyebrow.

“Nosey Parker?”

“Well, yes, she was.” A kind heart prompted her to add, “A bit.”

“Then I don’t see why you are bothering with her.”

“Because she hasn’t got anyone else. I keep telling you so.”

Peter stuck his hands in the pockets of his raincoat, a gesture equivalent to clearing the decks for action.

“Now look here, Tamsine, you can’t go through life collecting lame ducks, and stray dogs, and females whom nobody loves. You are twenty-two-and how old would you be when I first patted your head in your pram? About two. So that makes it twenty years that I’ve known you. You’ve been doing it all the time, and it’s got to stop. You started with moribund wasps and squashed worms, and you went on to stray curs and half-drowned kittens. If Aunt Barbara hadn’t been a saint she would have blown the roof off. She indulged you.”

Properly speaking, Barbara Brandon was a good deal more Thomasina’s aunt than Peter’s, because she had been born an Elliot and had only married John Brandon, who was Peter’s uncle. She had not been dead for very long. A bright shimmer of tears came up in Thomasina’s eyes. It made them almost unbearably beautiful. She said with a little catch in the words,

“It-was nice.”

Peter looked away. If he went on looking at her he might find himself slipping, and it was no time for weakness. Discipline must be maintained. He was helped on this rather arid path by the fact that Thomasina almost immediately tossed her head and said with complete irrelevance,