Then the task before her was to warn her husband before he came blundering in and began to coo and call to her and the children from the passage.
Anne Caspar was always at her best in a crisis.
Her baby was asleep; and Ernie was happy bestriding a new hobby-horse and chanting to himself.
She took off her apron, put on her hat, and paused a moment on the door-step, looking up and down the road.
Which way had her husband gone?
Once a week or so he went down town to consult the Public Library. For the rest he always went towards the Downs to lose himself amid the hollows of the hills. She made for the huge green wall that blocked the end of the road, shimmering and mysterious in the April sunshine. Her choice proved right. She saw him coming off the hill above Beech-hangar, and went to meet him.
He would have blundered past her, oblivious of her presence but that she stopped him.
Briefly she told him the news and gave him his instructions.
They must not be seen entering the house together.
She would return directly to the house: he must go along the new Road, down Church Street at the back, and approach by way of Billing's Corner.