Neither spoke. Billy seemed angelic like a cherub boy, or like an acolyte, Birkin was a tall, grave angel looking down to him.

‘Are you going to be kissed?’ Ursula broke in, speaking to the little girl. But Dora edged away like a tiny Dryad that will not be touched.

‘Won’t you say good-night to Mr Birkin? Go, he’s waiting for you,’ said Ursula. But the girl-child only made a little motion away from him.

‘Silly Dora, silly Dora!’ said Ursula.

Birkin felt some mistrust and antagonism in the small child. He could not understand it.

‘Come then,’ said Ursula. ‘Let us go before mother comes.’