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don’t like to see them going round and round. Their cheerfulness doesn’t deceive me.’

Monica felt something of a shock as she heard these words. It was almost as though Hester were reading her thoughts of an hour ago. ‘Aren’t even the fish to be spared psycho-analysis?’ she asked.

‘Well, since they are all repression, I think we need hardly waste our time on them! They offer no problem!’ Hester returned with a slight laugh. ‘They are melancholy mad, poor things—as anything shut up with nothing whatever to do must be. I do hate to see animals shut up.’ She tossed the end of her cigarette into one of Monica’s Chinese bowls, took out another, tapped it against the back of her hand and lighted it as she stood there.

‘If you can call them shut up,’ said Monica. Robin had drawn close to her and was gazing, very earnestly now, at the ambiguous fish.

‘They are as shut up as the lions at the Zoo, and those always make me feel sick,’ said Hester, turning away.

Monica and the child stood in a stillness curiously shared.

‘Are they really unhappy, do you think?’ Robin asked, whispering again.

‘Not one bit, darling,’ she assured him—though