“And when you’re on my hill,” Francey said with a mysterious nod, “you’ll understand it better than any of us.”  She looked away from the grey, upturned face.  She added almost to herself:  “How dark it is here!  The sun has gone down behind the roof.”

“Has it?  Yes, it went so suddenly.  I wondered”—­she picked up her knitting, and began to roll it together—­“if Robert could go?” she murmured.

“Robert can go.  I knew before I asked.”

But he flung round on her in a burst of extraordinary resentment.

“I can’t.  You seem to think I can do anything and everything that comes into your head.  People like you never really understand.  We’re poor.  We haven’t the money or the time to—­to fool round.  Nor has Cosgrave, but he likes to pretend—­humbug himself and anyone else silly enough to believe in him.”

It was as though something long smouldering amongst them had blazed up.  Cosgrave banged the table with his clenched fist.  His freckles were like small suns shining out of his dead-white face.

“You—­you leave me alone, Stonehouse.  I—­I’m n-not a kid any more.  And I d-don’t pretend.  Connie knows I haven’t a c-cent in the world except what poor mother sneaks out of the housekeeping.  But I’m s-sick of living as I’ve done—­always grinding, always afraid of everything.  If I c-can’t have my fun out of life I d-don’t want to live at all.  I’m not going to Heaven to make up for it—­Mr. Ricardo has just told us that—­so what’s the use?  You’ve g-got your work and that satisfies you.  Mine doesn’t satisfy me.  So when you t-talk about me—­you’re just t-talking through your hat.”

Miss Edwards threw up her hands in mock horror.

“Oh, my angel child, what a temper!  And to think I nearly married him!”

She choked with laughter.  And underneath the thin flooring, as though roused by her irreverent merriment, the big car shook itself awake with a roar and splutter of indignation.  But the sliding doors were thrown open, and its rage died down at the prospect of release.  It began to purr complacently, greedily.

It was strange how the sound quieted them.  They looked towards the window as though for the first time they were aware of something outside that came to them from beyond the low, confining roofs—­a spring wind blowing from far-off places.

“Six cylinder,” Cosgrave muttered with feverish eyes.  “Do you know, if I had that thing living under me I’d—­I’d go off with it one night, and I’d go on and on and never come back.”

Connie Edwards patted his head.  She winked at Francey, but Francey was looking at Robert’s sullen back.

“No, you wouldn’t.  Not for six months or so, anyhow.”

He laughed shamefacedly.

“Oh, well, of course I’m rotting.  I can’t drive a go-cart.  Never had the chance.  Oh, I say, Robert, don’t grouch.  I didn’t mean to be rude.  Of course, you’re right in a way.  But I get that sort of stuff at home, and if I get it here I don’t know what I’ll do.”