Well, that was that. She sank into a chair. A great sigh escaped from inside her. How terrible a house looked when you were gettin’ out of it. And all the doors were always left open. She got up and shut them, then she came back to her chair. This rain was horrible, and there was no fire. Had she said a word to everyone? Of course she was not going away for good, but they were not to live down here any more, so that a word or two was expected of you. It was so difficult, too, to find anythin’ to say. She had loved them all, and they loved her, but they did not understand her going away like this. They were always asking who was going to live here instead, and she did not know. It was a relief, though, now that they were really off, now that those endless discussions were over. Mabel was impossible sometimes, this business had estranged them almost. The clock had stopped. Really, William might have wound it up, even if they weren’t going to be here this evenin’. She looked at her watch. Twenty-nine minutes.
It was nice of Edward to lend them his house with the caretaker and his wife. The two would quarrel, of course, that was the trouble about having married servants, but they would be comfortable there, and it would give one time to look round. 9 Hans Crescent. A German name, but, after all, the war had been over for some time. Nine. But . . . And she had only counted eight, and she had let them go off. What was this?
“Yes, madam.”
“Did you take Mr. John’s trunk?”
“Mr. John? Mr. John’s box?”
“Oh, oh. I was afraid that would happen. I should have reminded you. Oh, dear.”
“Will you take it with you, madam?”
“Yes, that would be best. Will you get it down now, and tell Mr. John that we start in twenty minutes?”