“Justin—wait. Be sure. Be very, very sure.” Her lips trembled childishly. “You must be sure. If you found out, afterwards——I couldn’t stand it—twice.”
It was so unlike her that he was shocked. He thought she must have suffered beyond belief to say such a thing to him. Sure? He would show her!... For an instant he was a man enlightened—forgetting all himself in an impulse of pure tenderness. He would show her!...
“Laura——”
‘One! two! three! four!’ The clock chimed in—sweet, icy, maliciously sedate. ‘And your train, Justin? And your train?’ Its echoes were lost in the crunch of the punctual wheels on the drive.
His hands dropped again, between impatience and relief.
Laura rose hastily. It was pitiful to watch Martha ousting Mary in her face. She was the old Laura, the wistful, anxious Laura again, full of words and plannings and solicitudes.
“You must go. I had forgotten. I had forgotten the war. It isn’t the time. You mustn’t lose your train, Justin. Will you go quickly to your mother? Your bag—your mackintosh—I’ll see to your things. I’m coming with you. I want to come with you. Your umbrella——Of course! Soldiers don’t have umbrellas.”
She followed him into the hall, and while he ran upstairs, went out on to the steps where old Robert and the dog-cart awaited him. She spoke quickly.
“You can get down, Robert. I am driving Mr. Justin.”
Robert, with a tall fighting son of his own, was tenacious of his crack with the young master. He expostulated respectfully. There had never been so fresh a mare as the mare between the shafts of the dog-cart.