nose against the blank wall ahead.’

Ursula laughed. She was frightened, and when she was frightened she always laughed and pretended to be jaunty.

‘Your poor nose!’ she said, looking at that feature of his face.

‘No wonder it’s ugly,’ he replied.

She was silent for some minutes, struggling with her own self-deception. It was an instinct in her, to deceive herself.

‘But I’M happy — I think life is AWFULLY jolly,’ she said.

‘Good,’ he answered, with a certain cold indifference.

She reached for a bit of paper which had wrapped a small piece of