Walter put his hand to his head in his tired, bewildered way.
‘But, Helen dear,’ he said, ‘you can’t be crying about that?’
And I nodded my head.
‘I do so want a bathroom, all white, with tiles and glass shelves and shining taps,’ I said.
‘But, Helen, you know we can’t afford that sort of thing,’ he said, ‘even if it were reasonable to do it. Tiles are very expensive.’
I said:
‘I know; I know they are expensive; I know I shall never have a bathroom like that; that is why I am crying.’
Walter was trying to be kind.
‘You know, Helen,’ he said, ‘I sometimes think you don’t quite understand; quite apart from the question of whether we could afford it, do you think it would be right to spend a lot of money on white tiles and shelves when the War is going on? Do you quite realize what the War means? Hundreds and thousands of people being killed every day and maimed and blinded.’
I put out my hand to stop him: