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"Then I should really be most awfully grateful. I do so want to send a postcard to my little boy. I promised him he should have one tomorrow."

"Oh, of course, I'll take you with pleasure."

She judged from his manner that her request, far from having put him against her, had worked in her favor. She really did like him, and apart from her relief at not having to struggle into the village on some uncertain future date, she rejoiced at the prospect of two extra miles in his company. But one thing must be made clear.

"I've left him with my mother in London. She's given him a home while I'm on jobs—ever since my husband died."

He nodded gravely and for a moment or two they drove in silence. The road forked just before the village, which she was disappointed to find consisted of no more than a dozen cottages besides the church and a very small pub.

"Is this all there is?"

"All there is," he answered smiling. "Isn't it enough?"

"Well, one likes to go to a hotel sometimes, or to the pictures."