Nan, it's your week for domesticity.

Go and make tea." Nan scrambled up from the hearthrug obediently and disappeared into the kitchen regions, while Penelope, curling herself up on a cushion in front of the fire, sat musing.
For nearly six years now she and Nan had shared the flat they were living in.

When they had first joined forces, Nan had been at the beginning of her career as a pianist and was still studying, while Penelope, her senior by five years, had already been before the public as a singer for some considerable time.

With the outbreak of the war, they had both thrown themselves heartily into war work of various kinds, reserving only a certain portion of their time for professional purposes.

The double work had proved a considerable strain on each of them, and now that the war was past it seemed as though Nan, at least, were incapable of getting a fresh grip on things.
Luckily--or, from some points of view, unluckily--she was the recipient of an allowance of three hundred a year from a wealthy and benevolent uncle.