She could not see for tears. She made a little fluttering movement with her hands and dropped her head against his shoulder. He slipped his arm about her waist, and so they sat, in an according silence.
On the Thursday before Good Friday, George Webb packed a small black bag and started off on a solitary holiday, and a few hours later Chesterfield Row was animated by the departure in a cab of Grace and the baby, Phil and the violin, sundry packages, and a puppy.
"Heaven knows how we'll get there," Grace said cheerfully to Theresa, from the depths of the musty cab. "We have to change three times, and this wretched animal always wants to eat people's feet, but I dare not leave him behind. He's as strong as a lion, and would be sure to kill something. And I thought he would be a sort of plaything for Baby!"
"I hope Phil's mother will appreciate him."
"That entirely depends on her affection for her boots. What's Phil doing? We shall lose the train."
"Tearing his hair. He can't find something. It's his umbrella. It's here, Phil, in the cab. What a family! And fancy troubling about an umbrella!"
"He never touches it except when he is going on a journey. Men——Oh, do get in, Phil."
"And don't tread on Grace's toes! Good-bye, good-bye!"
Theresa went indoors, laughing. These people were so perennially young and beautiful.
Early on Saturday morning it was Edward Webb's turn to go.