Mother travelled to Town with me.
She questioned me about my farewells to Walter Markham—she has a serene way of questioning. I think she would have made a mark in the Spanish Inquisition.
"Did he show much distress at your leaving him, Pam?"
"I don't know whether he quite realised. He had a sort of relapse, and he was only partially conscious. The doctors thought me callous. The one like a rocking-horse told me I had no right to leave him. I said it was essential I should return. If he could have kept me there by force he would."
"I understand from the sister that this sudden relapse makes it more unlikely than ever that he will pull through, apparently the next twenty-four hours are the test."
"Yes."
"Your nails are not very carefully manicured," said mother.
I laughed; it was so like mother to obtrude utterly unimportant trivialities, to bring you crashing to earth with some ridiculous trifle.
"You will send the money as soon as possible, Pam."
"I absolutely can't do it, mother!" I said desperately. I had a sudden vision of myself asking Cheneston for money.