“I’m thankful he’s had influenza,” observed Mrs Orgreave, implying that thus there would be less chance of George catching the disease under her infected roof.
That George had been down with influenza before Christmas was the sole information about him that Edwin obtained. Nobody appeared to consider it worth while to discuss the possible reasons for his sudden arrival. Hilda’s caprices were accepted in that house like the visitations of heaven.
Six.
Edwin and Janet stood together on the windy and bleak down-platform of Knype Station, awaiting the express, which had been signalled. Edwin was undoubtedly very nervous and constrained, and it seemed to him that Janet’s demeanour lacked naturalness.
“It’s just occurred to me how she made that mistake about the time of the train,” said Edwin, chiefly because he found the silence intolerably irksome. “It stops at Lichfield, and in running her eye across the page she must have mixed up the Lichfield figures with the Knype figures—you know how awkward it is in a time-table. As a matter of fact, the train does stop at Lichfield about 6:30.”
“I see,” said Janet reflectively.
And Edwin was saying to himself—
“It’s a marvel to me how I can talk to her at all. What made me offer to come with her? How much does she know about me and Hilda? Hilda may have told her everything. If she’s told her about her husband why shouldn’t she have told her about me? And here we are both pretending that there’s never been anything at all between me and Hilda!”
Then the train appeared, obscure round the curve, and bore down formidable and dark upon them, growing at every instant in stature and in noise until it deafened and seemed to fill the station; and the platform was suddenly in an uproar.