Joan hesitated; the long years of habit tugged at her, but suddenly her mind was made up.
"I'll be back at twelve, darling, you'd better stay quiet until then."
2
She hurried over her breakfast. Richard was waiting for her in the hall and came forward as she left the dining-room.
"Ah! That's better," he said.
She looked at him questioningly. "What's better?"
"Why, you are. You look more like yourself this morning."
"Do I? It's only the clothes, I always look odd in the evening."
He looked amused. "Well, perhaps you do, a little," he admitted.
They strolled down the drive and through the gates into the little town. The air was full of West Country softness, it smelt of brine and earth and growing things. "If we keep straight on," she said, "we shall come to the Valley of the Rocks."