She was mortally afraid of bursting into tears. All their meals hitherto had been eaten in hotels, or trains, or boats, where there was plenty to divert her, to make her forget that thing which had been gnawing at her heart all the time these last two weeks, but now in the quiet room, with these two quiet people intent upon their food, there was nothing to help her. It rushed upon her like a flood—that terrible homesickness.... On this mild September night they would be sitting in the lofty dining-room, with the windows open on the dear old garden. She could imagine them in the light of the suspended lamp, her mother, her father, Lance, perhaps other familiar friends’ faces, the neat and smiling Selma waiting upon them; she could imagine their talk, casual, cheerful, full of family jokes, with the scholarly leaven introduced by her father and Lance.... And at every pause would be heard the sounds from the dark garden, the trees stirring, that branch of the big grape-vine tapping against the window....
Gilbert and his mother were talking, in a disconnected and perfunctory way. She asked questions about the honeymoon; he gave her the names of hotels, details of the accommodation they had secured; she had a little gossip for him of old friends. When they stopped talking, there came to her ears utterly unfamiliar sounds—a carriage rattling by over the cobblestones, a footstep ringing on the pavement overhead, passing the barred window, mournful whistles from the river.
After the roast came the pudding, a vanilla blanc mange, made in a ring, the centre filled with strawberry jam, and cream poured over it all. And this demolished, they all rose; Gilbert gave his arm to his mother and they started up the stairs, followed by the disconsolate bride. She felt more than ever like a forlorn child, following these two people so much older and solider, so much more positive and self-assured than she. Her life was to be nothing but a wretched struggle to please them....
They entered the austere front parlour where a flicker of gas revealed the shrouded furniture, the huge, gold-framed pictures on the walls, the grand piano; they passed through this to the second parlour, and in here the dutiful son made a light and settled his mother in her favourite chair. The younger woman sat down near her, with an uncertain smile and her husband drew out his cigar case.
“Do you ladies object?” he asked facetiously.
“Go along with you, Gilbert!” cried the old lady, “I do declare I’ve missed the smell of smoke since you’ve been away.”
She leaned back in her chair and regarded him with complacency as he blew out great clouds of smoke.
“Nice to be home, Claudine?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!” said the little liar.
He hadn’t much more to say; he was a silent fellow at all times and to-night he was tired and a bit out of sorts. All this travelling about had unsettled him; of course it had to be done, but he was glad it was over. They would be much happier now, being settled down. To tell the truth, the honeymoon had not been quite the rapture he had imagined. Claudine had been—he reflected: well, Claudine had been too damned polite. She had pretended to like everything; she hadn’t been quite human. No matter what went wrong, she had kept on smiling.... With undeniable relief he allowed his mind to drift back to Business.