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and with eyes on her ... deep green eyes .. . she would feel inadequate.
    But — ‘Yes,’ said Jason.
    He was tired, she saw that as she pressed him in. He allowed the pressing but withdrew from a tentative cuddling. Still, she decided, dimming the light, it could have been worse.
    When she returned to the dining-room the men had gone. ‘Books,’ said Mrs. Campbell. ‘I often think the books are the worst things to property.’
    She sat with the housekeeper and they talked pleasantly but not, for Frances, informatively. At last Frances, too, went to bed.
    The next day was a repeat of her first day, only a little more ice broken, more loosening up. The three, Mrs. Campbell, Jason and Frances, had lunch together, then once again the child took a nap.
    Mrs. Campbell went out to the kitchen. Sitting by the window Frances listened to her moving around until she, too, dozed.
    She woke, yawned and went in to see if Jason still slept. He did, like a little possum. She smiled and came out again. She stood at the window a while looking down on the ants of people and beetles of buses. It was a fine way to see the city, and she wondered how it would look from the top floor, some fifteen more storeys up. She decided to find out.
    It proved superb up there. She could trace out to the coast. She could look up to the Blue Mountains. She went round and round the roof top in delight. But her delight faded away as she returned to the apartment. Mr. West was standing waiting for her and his face was dark with anger.
    ‘Where in tarnation have you been, Miss Peters?’
    ‘To see the view.’
    ‘While you left the boy alone?’
    ‘Mrs. Campbell was in the kitchen.’
    ‘Mrs. Campbell, knowing the responsibility is now yours, is gone out.’
    ‘But—but I heard her. At least …’ She had heard her, but it had been over an hour before. ‘What harm could come?’ Frances asked in self-defence.
    ‘Harm? A child on his own in the city?’
    ‘He’s a sensible little boy. He likes looking out of the window, but I doubt if he would like to climb through it, even if he could.’
    The man took a step forward in his anger, she saw the anger clearly, then he checked himself.
    ‘At this early stage, Miss Peters,’ he said icily, ‘let’s get things right. You are not paid to think what is safe, or not, you are paid to —’
    ‘Comply,’ she put in.
    ‘Comply,’ he sealed. ‘The boy must not be left. Oh, you’ll have your leisure, have no fears about that, but at any other time unless you are absolutely sure there’s someone else in attendance you’re not to leave Jason alone.’
    ‘I’m sorry. But’ ... in a second wretched attempt at self-defence ... ‘I did shut the door behind me.’
    ‘There’s a tradesman’s entrance,’ he said.
    There was silence in the room. Frances found herself hoping desperately that Jason would break it by waking up and calling for her attendance. But the child slept on.
    Eventually Mr. West broke the uncomfortable lull himself. He s aid coolly, ‘Well, no harm done, so we’ll close the subject for today. Tomorrow it will be different, we’ll be back at Mirramunna. You may care to get your things ready tonight, Miss Peters, Jason’s ready. It’s not a long run to the Riverina, only some three hundred miles, but for the boy’s sake we’ll take it in easy stages.’
    He turned and went to the door, but paused there.
    ‘We’ll leave early—eight o’clock. By the way, I’ll be home tonight, so you can go roof-viewing or whatever appeals.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Frances, wondering what she could add.
    But nothing else was forthcoming, for Jason ... and thanks be! ... woke up.
    His was the most welcome complaint from the fretful young, she thought, hurrying to his little bed-corner, that she had ever heard in all her nursing days.

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    They l eft promptly at eight the next morning, which did not surprise Frances; anything Mr. Burn West decreed would be carried out, she