And he went indoors to get a knife and a basket.
‘I’m sure I ought to go,’ said Catherine nervously to Virginia.
‘The car isn’t round yet, mother. Smithers is never late.’
‘I believe,’ said Stephen, coming out again, knife and basket in hand, pausing on the terrace and considering the sky, ‘you will have a comparatively cool journey back. I rather fancy there has been a thunderstorm over towards Salisbury, and it will have cleared the air when you arrive there.’
He went down the steps on to the lawn, and began choosing roses with care and deliberation.
‘Virginia darling, oughtn’t I to go?’ Catherine asked, fidgeting.
‘It isn’t seven yet, mother,’ said Virginia patiently, a little hurt by this extreme anxiety not to be obliged to spend the night with them. Stephen on the lawn was carefully removing the thorns from the roses he had cut.
The church clock began to strike seven. Catherine started. ‘There,’ she exclaimed, getting up quickly, ‘I must go. Good-bye, darling. Never mind the roses, Stephen,’ she called.
‘You have at least another five minutes before you need leave,’ he called back in his sonorous, carrying voice, still going on selecting the biggest blooms.
Kate appeared and said the car was waiting.