Then came surprise on surprise.
I saw his face change utterly, turn blank, agitated. An odd-sounding “Ah!” broke from his lips. Then he looked up again alert, decisive.
He stuffed the paper into his pocket, paused one instant, frowning in thought. Then counter-ordered the coffee.
“No time for it,” he said. Then rose to take his hat from the rack beside the little mirror.
So soon? Oh, so soon? What had brought this about? Why “no time”? It seemed scarcely a minute since I’d opened the door of our flat to him, and now he was off! In this hurry! Why?
But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that, after all, I was a soldier’s daughter: that it was expected of our family that they should show no sign of being under fire, and that I’d got to go through what was coming without a tremor or glance to betray the sick sinking of the heart within me; lightly and steadily, holding myself well in hand. Afterwards I could get back to the flat....
So, as one tells the dentist, “I’m ready—now!” before a wrench, I picked my minute and was holding out my hand to him as he turned from the waitress.
I must say it first.
“Well, good-bye, Mr. Waters!”
He didn’t seem to hear that.