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It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. I think too much about myself. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. She repeated this breathlessly. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Once a week, every Saturday, they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica.

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