“Ten minutes to ten.”
Her mother glanced at the clock. It was only half-past eight. There was ample time for everything.
“Nevertheless, you’d better look sharp,” Mrs Verden said.
Helena turned away, weary of this exaggeration.
“I’ll come with you to the station,” suggested Mrs Verden. “I’ll see the last of you. We shan’t see much of you just now.”
Helena turned round in surprise.
“Oh, I wouldn’t bother,” she said, fearing to make her disapproval too evident.
“Yes—I will—I’ll see you off.”
Mrs Verden’s animation and indulgence were remarkable. Usually she was curt and undemonstrative. On occasions like these, however, when she was reminded of the ideal relations between mother and daughter, she played the part of the affectionate parent, much to the general distress.
Helena lit a candle and went to her bedroom. She quickly packed her dress-basket. As she stood before the mirror to put on her hat, her eyes, gazing heavily, met her heavy eyes in the mirror. She glanced away swiftly as if she had been burned.