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and she said nothing more until he was in his pyjamas and standing by the side of his bed. She laid down her book then and asked, almost in the same words as Gail had done, "What are you going to do about John?"
    He had a sudden and unusual desire to turn on her and cry, "I'm going to let him get cold in the grease he got hot in," but that would mean that her face would tighten, then her eyes would take on that hurt look, and when she spoke there'd be that slight tremor at the end of her words, which indicated the effort she was making to remain calm.
    Esther laid great stock on remaining calm. All the books she read, especially last thing at night, were to aid calmness. Waldo Trine's
    "In Tune with the Infinite* was her second Bible. Daily she imbibed its philosophy. He had once said to her, jokingly, " I bet you could repeat that book backwards," and she had taken his remark as censure.
    His thoughts darting off at a resentful tangent now, he said to himself, 'she even took the damn book on her honeymoon, and the second night she sat up reading it. " He shook his head at himself. He was tired, weary. That business with John had upset him, together with the lack of Christmas spirit emanating from the citizens of Fellburn. It was ludicrous, but if he hadn't stood outside each of the three pubs that lined the Market Square it would have been three and threepence he would have collected, not one pound eight and threepence. So much for Christian charity. God The felt tired and irritable, all at cross purposes with everything. It wasn't only the business of John, he had felt off colour lately. Some of the joy had gone out of life; there was a sameness about it. Why? Oh well, it was his age he supposed. They all said it happened to you as you neared forty.
    Looking at it squarely he'd had a long run for his money. He'd known contentment for years, and that was taking into account the frustrations of the bedroom too. He glanced now at Esther. She was looking at him. Her fair hair was smooth' and shining. She hadn't a wrinkle on her skin. She didn't look thirty-seven, she didn't look the mother of three children. She was wearing a pink brushed-nylon nightdress; on someone else, like Gail, it would have looked cosy, cuddly, but on Esther it only looked warm and sensible.
    as uc saiu unaer nis Dream, "    "She didn't mean it; it just comes out. And you know, it's funny, she can manage John. He takes things from her that he wouldn't from anybody else and she tells him the truth to his face. If I was to say half the things to him that Gran does he'd scalp me."
    He said to her now, "How long has your mother been up?" and she answered, "Not long. She looked tired. Grandfather came in. He's not coming for Christmas after all, he's going to his friend in York. He said he's ill and wants to see him. It's the one he was in the Army with, I think. Mother was disappointed about that and all. He brought a lot of parcels. They're up in the attic." She hunched her shoulders and smiled at him.
    "Come on," he said, tapping her leg.
    "To bed."
    She walked to the end of the table, then turning and looking at him where he was putting the tray on the draining board she asked, "What are you going to do about John? If it isn't cleared up he'll sulk all over the holidays and it'll be frightful. He can you know, I mean sulk for a long time."
    "You leave John to me. Go on, get yourself up."
    She made four tripping steps and came back to him and flinging her arms round his neck, she hugged and kissed him. Then in a manner that was individually hers she drooped her head to one side and smiled gently into his face and whispered, "You're nice, Mr. Blenheim. As a certain Gran O'Toole would say, you're a nice bloke."
    "Go on with you." He rapped her buttocks smartly once and she ran towards the door her hands on her bottom. Then again hunching her shoulders, she adopted a stealthy attitude and