“Don’t move a step without me, dear.” “All right.” “You might fall on to the rails or something. Where’s Janet?” That would indeed be an anti-climax. “Here, John, come this way and sit on this seat.” How quiet it was here. A cursed sparrow was cheeping foolishly so near. The station seemed asleep. But he was going away. Behind in the waiting-room a voice droned on, while another laughed at intervals. There was Mamma’s voice coming. She had got hold of Smith, poor man. He was being allowed to speak, “No trouble at all, Mrs. Haye, at all. I will see to it immediately.” She stopped by him. “They are making out the excess luggage, my dear. I think it is all going to be all right.” “Good.” This seat was hideously hard. That sparrow. Why was no one moving? A burst of laughter from the waiting-room, there were quite a number of people in it. They would be travelling by the same train. “Janet.” “Yes, Mr. John.” “How much longer, Janet?” “Only five minutes now.” Why did she speak as if he was a child? Here were steps coming towards him, boots clanking on the flags. The man had a smell of grease and leather about him. “Porter?” “Yessir.” “Is it a through train to London?” “Change at Bridcote, Swindon and Oxford.” Why had Mamma not told him? So they were to travel provincially. Oh well. It was London, but it was not the express. They would crawl like a worm instead. Voices on all sides began to make themselves heard, growing louder and louder. Over them all was Mamma suddenly thanking Smith. Then she came and sat down by him. “I have done it all, I think.” “Good.” “It will be in soon now.” “So we change three times.” “Yes, dear, do you mind? Such a nuisance. But it was the only train in the afternoon, and I thought we had better have lunch at home, it is so much more comfortable, don’t you think?” “Yes.” How funny that she had never consulted him. But she had always loved secrecy in her arrangements. A bell rang, steps began to make patterns of sound, and the voices rushed out of the waiting-room. They were off. A rumble which ran up to a roar and the train drew up. What a noise it was. But Mamma was dragging him along. A child’s voice, plaintive, “Mumma ... blind, Mumma.” Yes, that was him. “Here you are dear, jump in. The corner seat. The carriage is reserved. I shall be back in a minute. Thank you, Smith. Now ...” So they were off. Good-bye. He had had so many. Where was Mamma? Oh, why didn’t the train go? CHAPTER IV BEGINNING AGAIN LONDON. He was sitting in the drawing-room of the house Uncle Edward had lent them. He was ill, ill. The sunlight streamed through the window by him, for it was spring, and ate stealthily into the plush which covered his armchair.