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their posts. On the other hand, if Elizabeth succeeded, there was little doubt but that she would show favour to the Protestant faction. As you can see, it made for uncertainty—particularly among those who had no very strong convictions but wanted to be on the winning side.”
    “Yes, I see,” Lucy said encouragingly, realising that Mrs. Mayberry was, as it were, setting the scene for the work they would do together.
    “My heroine, though of a Catholic family, has actually Protestant leanings plus a very real sympathy for the Princess, a younger and much more attractive personality than the Queen. She—my heroine—is deeply in love with a handsome, brilliant man who is a time-server of the most cold-blooded sort. And that,” Mrs. Mayberry finished with considerable relish, “gives me a situation which ought to produce plenty of conflict and heart-searching!”
    Conflict and heart-searching! Involuntarily Lucy flinched and Mrs. Mayberry, looking at her downcast face, patted her hand reassuringly.
    “It will come right in the end,” she assured her cheerfully. “But how am I to spin out my seventy or eighty thousand words if I don’t make life difficult for the principal characters?”
    “Yes, of course,” Lucy managed to smile, but to herself she added: “And, of course, it will be truer to life than if nothing went wrong!”
    There was a little silence and then Mrs. Mayberry spoke again.
    “There is just one more thing I want to say to you and then we will never speak of it again. As I believe my brother told you, I am bothered with rheumatoid arthritis. Fortunately for me—and those about me— there are times when I can forget about it. But not always. When that happens, I’m not fit company for anybody and so I keep to my own room. Bertha looks after me, but apart from her, all I ask is to be left alone. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, and I’ll remember,” Lucy promised, and changed the subject as, she felt, Mrs. Mayberry would wish. “Would you mind, Mrs. Mayberry, if I ring my parents up to let them know I arrived safely? I would write, but they’re flying to Jersey tomorrow.”
    “By all means, my dear. Put your call through in my study. You cross the hall to the door exactly opposite this one. You can’t mistake it.”
    Lucy found her way without difficulty. The study turned out to be essentially a working room. Books lined two of the walls, there was a big double desk on which were two telephones and a covered typewriter. Except for the curtains and the carpet it was just like an office, with the only relief from austerity a big and beautifully arranged vase of flowers. Even this was placed well out of the way of anyone working at the desk although within range of their vision. Lucy sat down, and seeing that one was unmistakably a house phone, lifted the receiver of the other and asked for the number. Her mother answered.
    “It’s me—Lucy,” Lucy said briskly. “I thought you’d like to know I got here safely and—and that everything is all right.”
    “Oh, darling, I’m so glad.” Mrs. Darvill took her tone from Lucy and spoke with deliberate cheerfulness. “I was hoping you’d ring. Are you—are you alone?”
    “Yes, in Mrs. Mayberry’s study,” Lucy explained.
    “Well, darling, there’s something—” Mrs. Darvill began, but Lucy interrupted her.
    “If—if you mean the evening paper, I’ve seen it,” she said quickly. “And—that’s that, isn’t it? There’s nothing more to be said.”
    “Nothing at all, darling,” Mrs. Darvill agreed with evident relief.
    “And you got—everything tidied up?” Lucy asked hurriedly.
    “Oh, yes, Aunt Millie came round and lent a hand. I was surprised how quickly we got through,” Mrs. Darvill said, just as if cancelling a wedding and putting off nearly a hundred guests was an everyday occurrence.
    “Oh, good, Tm glad,” Lucy replied. “And tomorrow you're both off for a perfectly lovely holiday! Have a good