“Why, to London, of course. What shall I do?”
A huge voice came as a whisper from across the river. “’ere!” it said, frenziedly, “’ere!” And another roar overwhelmed it, then a shrill whistle, and silence.
“It is no good, June, I must go. And June must go too, if there is anything in a name. Think of your August, and of how exciting that will be. It will come right one day.”
“Will it?”
“You see, you cannot leave your Father; what would he come to? It is your duty to stand by him. It is good for one, too.”
How unpleasant it was giving this sort of good advice. She ought to stay down here, from every point of view it was best that she should. And when the man died he would see what could be done. Yes, he really would.
“We will write to each other, June, and everything will seem better to-morrow.”
“It won’t.”
“Yes, it will. Poor June. But think, we have had one good time anyway, you and I, haven’t we? There is one good thing behind us anyway, isn’t there?”