“Change quickly,” she said. “I mustn’t stay long to-day.”
“Packing?” said Willoughby quietly.
“Yes.”
They ate their tea without laughter. The spirit of parting was hovering over the meal.
Afterwards they sat by the window, for, though the sun was shining, it had rained a lot that morning, and the world was wet.
Spring sat like a child, perched on the deep sill, smoking a cigarette and peering at Chancery out of the leaded panes.
“You will remember it all?” said the Groom of the Chambers.
“Yes—all.”
“It’s like a tale, don’t you think? A slice of a fairy tale. In the distance, the shining castle, and here, on the fringe of its domain, the little cot.”
“Where the poor boy dwelt who was really the rightful heir, with one old retainer to whom he was still the lord.”