People were seriously setting themselves to the putting on of black kid gloves that the undertaker had provided. The horses on the gravel drive were getting uneasy and the cab wheels made a grating noise. Heavy steps were heard descending the stairs—awkward steps like those of men moving furniture. Edwin saw that his father had heard too. He was looking towards the closed door of the room. He wanted to go and take his father’s hand and hold it, but the space round the edge of the table was packed with people. Now they had opened the hall door. He dared not look out of the window. The voice of Aunt Laura, most studiously kind, said to him: “Eddie, you’ll come along with your father and Uncle Albert and me.” He said, “All right.” People at the side of the table made way for him. On his way he found himself abreast of his friend, Miss Beecock. She said nothing, but smiled at him and put her arm on his sleeve. She was wearing black silk mittens, and her eyes were full of tears. That weak, tearful smile nearly did for Edwin. The first cab was drawn up at the hall door. Edwin scrambled in last. Aunt Laura, with a rustle of black silk, made way for him. She took out her handkerchief, and Edwin was stifled with a wave of scent. He hated scent: but anyway it was better than Sanitas. He saw his father’s puzzled eyes on the other side of the cab . . . so old, so awfully old. Uncle Albert took out his handkerchief, too. Evidently, Edwin thought, it was the correct thing to do. He had misjudged him. Uncle Albert proceeded to blow his nose. They were driving through the High Street. Aunt Laura noticed that most of the shop shutters were up, and in several cases tradesmen were standing at their shop doors bare-headed as they passed. “It’s very kind of them . . . very nice to see so much respect, John,” she said to his father. Mr. Ingleby said “Yes,” and Aunt Laura, with a little laugh that was merely a symptom of nervousness, went on: “I expect there’ll be a crowd at the cemetery gate.” This time Mr. Ingleby said nothing and Uncle Albert once more stolidly blew his nose. “Albert, dear, I wish you wouldn’t,” said Aunt Laura. The brakes grated, and the cab stopped with a jerk. “Come along, Edwin, jump out, there’s a good boy,” said Aunt Laura. “You’ll walk with your father.”