It was Roy who spoke, as if he had read her heart.
"Mummy, Aunt Jane's been talking to Daddy again about school. Oh, I do hate her!" (This in fervent parenthesis.)
She only tightened her hold and felt a small quiver run through him.
"Will it be fearfully soon? Has Daddy told you?"
"Yes, my darling. But not too fearfully soon, because he knows I don't wish that."
"When?"
"Not till next year, in the autumn. September."
"Oh, you good—goodest Mummy!"
He clutched her in an ecstasy of relief. For him a year's respite was a lifetime. For her it would pass like a watch in the night.