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up the bridge of her nose from time to time. She was extremely religious, according to Julia, and I suppose it was true, although Maureen herself made no reference to anything of a churchly nature. Why did she stand such a life of slavery? She had a free room in Onslow Square, and I am sure that Charlie must have paid her quite well, but she had given up her independence, and also her profession, for although she had been a very minor sort of journalist, there was no reason why she should not have gone on and made something of herself. I think she was enormously frightened of the outside world, and instinctively took refuge with the strongest person she could find. This happened to be Julia, met, not entirely by chance, in the days when Maureen was working on the local paper.
    I felt uncomfortable with Maureen, who blushed and writhed and laughed at Julia’s remarks, although she must have heard them at least a hundred times: it occurred to me, in an idle moment, that with all her physical silliness and suggestibility, she was probably quite highly sexed, whichmade her doubly unfortunate. The thought surprised me, for in those days I was not given to speculating about other people’s emotional lives. I assumed that they were all like my own: faulty. What I saw of Charlie made me think differently, but then Charlie was the exception. Whatever Julia was like as a wife, or even as a woman, she was successful in surrounding herself with an atmosphere of gallantry, and this had to be maintained by women as well as by men. In this respect Maureen was invaluable, and so, to a very much lesser extent, was I.
    Nevertheless, I felt more relaxed when the five of us—Julia, Mrs Wilberforce, Mrs Chesney, Maureen and myself—were all present, because the absence of any one of us would encourage Julia to examine, with the others, some tiny fault which she would mention deprecatingly, and which only perverseness, it seemed, stopped us from rectifying. Thus, after an absence of a few days, when Owen was at home, I went round to Onslow Square, on one occasion, to hear myself accused of morbidity. ‘It’s such a little thing,’ said Julia, smiling. ‘But I had to mention it. I said to Mummy the other day, “Have you noticed how morbid Fay has become?” And Mummy was forced to say that she had. And Pearl (Mrs Chesney) was worried that something might be wrong. But I said, “Nonsense, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong. Why should there be? As far as I know Owen hasn’t got another woman, although of course he has plenty of opportunity, and no one would know if he kept a mistress in Monte Carlo or Málaga or wherever he goes, but I somehow don’t think that’s the trouble.” ’ She paused here and I trembled for Owen, though not as Julia would have wished. She continued. ‘I think you’ve just developed a morbid outlook, Fay, and you’ve got to guard against it. Heaven knows I’ve got more to be morbid about than youhave, but being on the stage teaches you to keep going, in spite of your feelings. That’s what I try to do. With some success, I hope.’
    These words were met with murmurs of approval from her audience, although I confess to feeling deeply annoyed, even as I recall the incident. At that time, of course, I was also a little fearful, for Julia had a speculative cast of mind, and it was difficult to tell whether she made such remarks out of sheer boredom or whether she really intended to make one lose one’s temper and have a glorious row. ‘We had a glorious row,’ she would say with some satisfaction, after a passage at arms with one of her friends. There was another reason for my fear. Although I never mentioned Owen in company, conscious that I had much to hide, and also conscious of having to protect him, Julia was preternaturally aware of the sensitive part to which the arrow or goad might be directed. I excused this, as we all did, because we knew that her suffering was quite genuine and that it took some