A fire was burning; the place was littered with books and drawing-boards.

"I leave my things lying about," he said.

"It's so much easier." She loved his artist's paraphernalia, and the books, and the photos of people.

Soon he was telling her: this was William, this was William's young lady in the evening dress, this was Annie and her husband, this was Arthur and his wife and the baby.

She felt as if she were being taken into the family.