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"You have high ideals of village life. You'll find all that at Sandlake."

"Yes, but I'll have to get there."

Perhaps he would take her there someday. He was just the sort of man she would like to take her out. There was something solid about him, under the surface ease. She wondered how old he was—younger than she was, but she could not tell how much.

"Here's the post office."

It was a small general shop, as she might have expected. He held the door open for her, but he did not go in. She surveyed the meager stock of picture postcards. Anything would please Michael, but she wanted to find what would please him most. Luckily there was one with kittens on it. Cats were the only animals he really understood about—Mother had always kept a cat. She wrote "These pussies have come to tell you that Mum has arrived safely in the country. She sends you love and kisses and will come and see you before very long." She printed the letters very carefully, as if there had been a chance of his being able to read her message himself. When she had finished, she found that her eyes were dim with tears.