One
IM rs. Bantry was dreaming. Her sweet peas had just taken a First at the flower show. The vicar, dressed in cassockand surplice, was giving out the prizes in church. His wife wandered past, dressed in a bathing suit, but as is theblessed habit of dreams this fact did not arouse the disapproval¹ of the parish in the way it would assuredly have donein real life….
Mrs. Bantry was enjoying her dream a good deal. She usually did enjoy those early-morning dreams that wereterminated by the arrival of early-morning tea. Somewhere in her inner consciousness was an awareness² of the usualearly-morning noises of the household. The rattle³ of the curtain rings on the stairs as the housemaid drew them, thenoises of the second housemaid’s dustpan and brush in the passage outside. In the distance the heavy noise of thefront-door bolt being drawn⁴ back.
Another day was beginning. In the meantime she must extract as much pleasure as possible from the flower show—for already its dream-like quality was becoming apparent….
Below her was the noise of the big wooden shutters⁵ in the drawing room being opened. She heard it, yet did nothear it. For quite half an hour longer the usual household noises would go on, discreet⁶, subdued⁷, not disturbingbecause they were so familiar. They would culminate⁸ in a swift, controlled sound of footsteps along the passage, therustle of a print dress, the subdued chink of tea things as the tray was deposited on the table outside, then the softknock and the entry of Mary to draw the curtains.
In her sleep Mrs. Bantry frowned. Something disturbing was penetrating⁹ through to the dream state, something outof its time. Footsteps along the passage, footsteps that were too hurried and too soon. Her ears listened unconsciouslyfor the chink of china, but there was no chink of china.

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