She told herself once more as she walked along that Godfrey could not possibly be such a cad as to throw over a poor girl who was crazy about him just before the wedding day, nor could he be meeting another girl on the sly at the same time.
And yet the sick trembling brought on by the sight of Laura remained until she reached Emerald Avenue. She had no room in her thoughts for the sorrows of others when she arrived with the key.
Miss Ethel came down directly she left, having finished measuring the floors; and after a while Laura came back to say that she had stupidly forgotten when she met Caroline on the way to ask her if the house were locked, so that she and Miss Panton could not get in, of course. She thought it strange that Caroline had not mentioned the key, as she had it in her hand; and after wondering about this a little they all went away, walking together to the end of the street. Here the ladies from the Cottage turned off towards the north, and when they had gone a little way in silence, Miss Ethel said: "Flamborough looks very clear to-day. We shall have rain." For she hoped by starting this subject to turn her sister's slow-moving thoughts away from the new house. She felt just then that she simply could not endure to discuss it.
But Mrs. Bradford did not want to talk about Flamborough.
"I do wish," she said, "Laura had got the measurements of my chair. I am afraid there may not be room for it on that side of the fire——" So all the way home, at intervals, she kept bemoaning the possible lack of space for her chair.
Miss Ethel felt very tired. But at last they reached the gate of the Cottage, and as they walked up the drive they saw that a man was at work taking up the privet hedge. He was doing it badly, mauling the fine roots in a way that made Mrs. Bradford for once almost energetic in her annoyance.
"Don't look! I can't bear to look at our poor hedge," she said, turning her head away.
Miss Ethel's glance rested indifferently on the man and the partially destroyed hedge. "What does it matter?" she said, and walked on to the front door.
"You mean, because we shall not be here?" said Mrs. Bradford uneasily, for even she felt there was something a little uncomfortable in her sister's voice and look.
But Miss Ethel's glance passed over the neat little lozenge-shaped leaves which lay torn from their place but still clinging to the branches, almost with indifference: then she went straight into the hall, making no reply, and Mrs. Bradford followed slowly, filled with the dull discomfort of the cat turned out of its basket. Her feeling was different from Miss Ethel's—less acute—but she was not in the least consoled by her vague knowledge that she was sharing this experience with thousands of middle-aged men and women all over Europe.