In a few minutes they were joined by Alfred, who had only just returned from Belwick, and dinner was served. It was not a cheerful evening. At Adela’s request it had been decided in advance that the final leave-taking should be to-night; she and Mutimer would drive to Agworth station together with Alfred the first thing in the morning. At ten o’clock the parting came. Letty could not speak for sobbing; she just kissed Adela and hurried from the room. Mrs. Waltham preserved a rather frigid stateliness.
‘Good-bye, my dear,’ she said, when released from her daughter’s embrace. ‘I hope I may have good news from you.’
With Mutimer she shook hands.
It was a starry and cold night. The two walked side by side without speaking. When they were fifty yards on their way, a figure came out of a corner of the road, and Adela heard Letty call her name.
‘I will overtake you,’ she said to her husband.
‘Adela, my sweet, I couldn’t say good-bye to you in the house!’
Letty hung about her dear one’s neck. Adela choked; she could only press her cheek against that moist one.
‘Write to me often—oh, write often,’ Letty sobbed. ‘And tell me the truth, darling, will you?’
‘It will be all well, dear sister,’ Adela whispered.
‘Oh, that is a dear name! Always call me that. I can’t say good-bye, darling. You will come to see us as soon as ever you can?’