“I thought so.”

He was glad that he had something beautiful to give her, to make up.

She glanced at the inner door leading to his father’s room.  “Is that yours in there?”

“Mine?  No.  That door’s locked.  It...  I’m on the other side next to Colin.”

“Show me.”

He took her into the gallery and showed her.

“It’s that door over there at the end.”

“What a long way off,” she said.

“Why?  You’re not afraid, are you?”

“Dear me, no.  Could anybody be afraid here?”

“Poor Colin’s pretty jumpy still.  That’s why I have to be near him.”

“I see.”

“You won’t mind having him with us, will you?”

“I shall love having him.  Always.  I hope he won’t mind me.”

“He’ll adore you, of course.”

“Now show me the garden.”

They went out on to the green terraces where the peacocks spread their great tails of yew.  Maisie loved the peacocks and the clipped yew walls and the goldfish pond and the flower garden.

He walked quickly, afraid to linger, afraid of having to talk to her.  He felt as if the least thing she said would be charged with some unendurable emotion and that at any minute he might be called on to respond.  To be sure this was not like what he knew of Maisie; but, everything having changed for him, he felt that at any minute Maisie might begin to be unlike herself.

She was out of breath.  She put her hand on his arm.  “Don’t go so fast,
Jerry.  I want to look and look.”

They went up on to the west terrace and stood there, looking.  Brown-crimson velvet wall-flowers grew in a thick hedge under the terrace wall; their hot sweet smell came up to them.

“It’s too beautiful for words,” she said.

“I’m glad you like it.  It is rather a jolly old place.”

“It’s the most adorable place I’ve ever been in.  It looks so good and happy.  As if everybody who ever lived in it had been good and happy.”

“I don’t know about that.  It was a hospital for four years.  And it hasn’t quite recovered yet.  It’s all a bit worn and shabby, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t care.  I love its shabbiness.  I don’t want to forget what it’s been....  To think that I’ve missed seven weeks of it.”

“You haven’t missed much.  We’ve had beastly weather all March.”

“I’ve missed you.  Seven weeks of you.”

“I think you’ll get over that,” he said, perversely.

“I shan’t.  It’s left a horrid empty space.  But I couldn’t help it.  I really couldn’t, Jerry.”

“All right, Maisie, I’m sure you couldn’t.”

“Torquay was simply horrible.  And this is heaven.  Oh, Jerry dear, I’m going to be so awfully happy.”