The stars were bright now: it must be dark enough for Martin’s fireworks. Things were happening next-door: Martin was preparing to celebrate in earnest. He had hung a row of fairy lanterns all along the eaves of the verandah, and the lights glowed rose, blue, green and white among the leaves of the vine. His shadowy figure was moving on the lawn, and another moved beside it: that was Tony Baring, Roddy explained, his friend and Martin’s, staying for the night. Julian was playing the piano; he was visible in profile against the window.
‘What a party, Roddy! And I the only lady. Please protect me.’
‘Oh yes, we all will. We’ll each protect you against all the others, so you’re fairly safe.’
A sudden light flared up in the garden.
‘Hey!’ said Martin’s voice. ‘Hi! Here everybody! My fireworks have started. Where the hell has Roddy got to? I wanted——’
‘Here we are!’ shouted Judith. ‘Hullo, Martin! Martin! We’re here, we’re watching. Hurrah for you, Martin!’
‘Oh good! Is that you, Judy? I’ve got some pretty hot stuff here. Watch!’
He spoke in the anxious excited voice of a small boy displaying the charms of his hobby to some indulgently attentive adult.
‘Oh, Martin, that’s splendid. Oooh, what a beauty! How I adore fireworks!’
It was essential that dear Martin should be made to feel his fireworks a success. They had behind them so eager a purpose of giving amusement to others that they deserved tremendous encouragement. You felt he had spent every penny of his pocket-money on them.