“Why don’t you take him with you?” Anthony said.

“’Cos he’s Ronny’s cat.”

“He isn’t.  I’ve given him to you,” Veronica said.

“When?”

“Now, this minute.  To sleep on your feet and keep you warm.”

Frances listened and thought:  “What children—­what babies they are, after all.”  If only this minute could be stretched out farther.

“I mustn’t,” Nicky said.  “I should spend hours in dalliance; and if a shell got him it would ruin my morale.”

Timmy, unhooked from Nicky’s shoulder, lay limp in his arms.  He lay on his back, in ecstasy, his legs apart, showing the soft, cream-white fur of his stomach.  Nicky rubbed his face against the soft, cream-white fur.

“I say, what a heavenly death it would be to die—­smothered in Timmies.”

“Nicky, you’re a beastly sensualist.  That’s what’s the matter with you,” John said.  And they all laughed.

The minute broke, stretched to its furthest.

* * * * *

Frances was making plans now for Nicky’s week.  There were things they could do, plays they could see, places they could go to.  Anthony would let them have the big car as much as they wanted.  For you could stretch time out by filling it; you could multiply the hours by what they held.

“Ronny and I are going to get married to-morrow,” Nicky said.  “We settled it that we would at once, if I got war-leave.  It’s the best thing to do.”

“Of course,” Frances said, “it’s the best thing to do.”

But she had not allowed for it, nor for the pain it gave her.  That pain shocked her.  It was awful to think that, after all her surrenders, Nicky’s happiness could give her pain.  It meant that she had never let go her secret hold.  She had been a hypocrite to herself.

Nicky was talking on about it, excitedly, as he used to talk on about his pleasures when he was a child.

If Dad’ll let us have the racing car, we’ll go down to Morfe.  We can do it in a day.”

“My dear boy,” Anthony said, “don’t you know I’ve lent the house to the Red Cross, and let the shooting?”

“I don’t care.  There’s the little house in the village we can have.  And Harker and his wife can look after us.”

“Harker gone to the War, and his wife’s looking after his brother’s children somewhere.  And I’ve put two Belgian refugees into it.”

“They can look after us,” said Nicky.  “We’ll stay three days, run back, and have one day at home before I sail.”

Frances gave up her play with time.  She was beaten.

And still she thought:  “At least I shall have him one whole day.”

And then she looked across the room to Michael, as if Michael’s face had signalled to her.  His clear, sun-burnt skin showed blotches of white where the blood had left it.  A light sweat was on his forehead.  When their eyes met, he shifted his position to give himself an appearance of ease.