Minna kissed her father and pulled his beard as she used to do when she was a little girl.
At the door of the greenhouse she turned:
“I shall have Gertrude and Mary for my bridesmaids. Won’t they be pleased? . . .”
“Go to bed,” said Francis.
“We gave Ma some hot gin and water to make her sleep,” said Minna, and she winked at Serge. She went away light-heartedly, humming the Dead March in Saul.
Gertrude did not appear.
At half-past twelve Serge went up to his mother’s room, peeped in, saw her sleeping, gently closed the door, and tip-toed away. He told his father.
“Thank God, for that,” said Francis. “I was afraid she . . .”
He took up the lamp and began slowly to move when there came a peremptory ring at the front-door bell. The lamp in his hand rattled, and he went to open the door. He saw a policeman standing on the door-step. He was so startled and alarmed that he could find nothing to say.
“Anything wrong, constable?” asked Serge.