A sleepy irritable landlady opened the door to Vi. By the time I had walked down the High Street to the shop, it was nearly midnight. Ruthita was sitting up for me; my grandmother had been in bed two hours. She eyed me curiously. “You had a long walk,” she said.
“Yes, longer than we expected.” I spoke brusquely. I was afraid she would question me.
At the top of the stairs, just as I was entering my room, she stole near to me.
“Dante, ar’n’t you going to kiss me good-night?”
I was bending perfunctorily over her lifted face, when I saw by the light of the candle in my hand that her eyes were red.
“Ruthie, you little goose, you’ve been crying. What’ve you been crying about?”
“I’ve not,” she denied indignantly, and broke from me. After she had entered her room I tiptoed down the passage and listened outside her door.
In the stillness of the house I could hear her sobbing.