"They can be what they like. I don't care anything about them."
"It's only your mother that you don't...."
He got up, restlessly. It was easier to reconstruct the scene which Honey had described to him than to let her bring what she was saying too sharply to a point.
"It was over here that the baby carriage stood, right in the heart of this little clump." She followed him into it. "Miss Nash and the other nurse were over there, where we were sitting first. And right here, just where I'm standing, the queer thing must have happened."
"Are you sorry it happened, Tom?"
"You mean, if it actually happened to me. Why, no; and yet—yes. I can't tell. I'm sorry not to have grown up with—with my father. And yet if I had, I should have missed—all the other things—Honey—and perhaps you."
"Oh, you couldn't have missed me, I couldn't have missed you. We might not have met in the way we did meet, but we'd have met."
He hardly heard her last words, because he was staring off along the path by which they themselves had come down. His tone was puzzled, scarcely more than a whisper.
"Hildred, look!"
"Why, it's Mr. and Mrs. Whitelaw. She's changed her dress. How young she looks with that kind of flowered hat. I remember now. They always come here on the tenth of May. They've been here already this morning. Lily told me so. I know what it is. They're looking for you. Miss Nash has told them where we are. I'm going to run."