Love in a Muddle

by Christine Jope-Slade

I looked at father.

"Yes," I answered desperately. "You are—thank you very much."

Later.

I threw this on the top of the chest of drawers because mother came in to say "good night!"

She has never done such a thing before.

"What a dreadfully old-fashioned nighty you are wearing, Pam," she said.

"It was one of yours," I answered. "I always have yours when you have done with them."

"You must have some pretty new things now, dear," she said. She stayed and chatted for a few minutes, and then strayed out again, leaving an atmosphere of elegance and jasmine scent.

I really am numbed mentally. My brain keeps taking records to-night, like a camera. It's a sort of human sensitised plate, but I don't feel anything, not even that it is really happening to me.

When the C.O. and his wife made their appearance, we all turned and walked up the hill together; father and the Colonel and his wife walked on in front, and the man and I walked behind.