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.
Michael had not reckoned on his brother's marriage, either. It was when he asked himself: "On what, then, had he been reckoning?" that the sweat broke out on his forehead.