“Well, anyway, we’re here,” she said, with sudden decision. “And if I don’t see him, I’ll always wish I had.”
“All right, Mary,” said Neville Day. “Now stick to that, my dear. Would you mind telling your father there’s somebody here to see him, Mauney?”
“Certainly,” Mauney agreed, turning to leave.
“Oh, wait!” called his aunt. “Wait a minute. You know I—I don’t think I can see him, Neville. No, I can’t. I really cannot.”
The uncle smoked calmly, studying his finger-nails, while Mauney stood riddled with curiosity.
“Come here, dear,” said his aunt. “Promise me not to mention us to your father. We aren’t going in, and it’s—it’s so hard to explain why we aren’t.”
Neville Day and Miss Jane Day got out of the car and walked slowly along the edge of the road together. His aunt asked Mauney to get in the rear seat and sit beside her. As she turned toward him, he could see his mother’s likeness with startling vividness.
“Your mother used to write to me about you, Mauney,” she said. “You were her favorite, I’m glad you’re such a big fellow. How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“It’s terrible how the time goes. I suppose you’re happy and well all the time—”