"I think so." Catherine stared out of her fog.
"Amelia will have the house opened and ready. Catherine can loaf all summer." Charles was hearty, assured. "It's been a hard winter, some ways."
The talk went on, with coffee and cheese, and Catherine drifted again in her fog. Perhaps one person always hides away. Bill had said something about that, once. In every combination of people, one hides. But if you hide away, then you shouldn't sulk. Play fair.
Dinner was over. Time to go. Henrietta, regretfully, explained that she couldn't go to the station. A case. Bill would walk over.
"I shall miss you, Cathy." They stood at the entrance of the hotel. "And the children. Bill gone, too. I'll have to work like fury."
"You must come out to Buxton when we're settled. Take a week off." Charles glanced at his watch, edged toward the street.
"I may." Henrietta's lips, firm and cool, touched Catherine's. "Good-by."
"We'd better walk fast," said Charles. "I have to get the bags out of the parcel room."
"Want a taxi?" Bill lifted his hand, but Catherine refused.