‘I feel that is just what we both are,’ his wife says; but as soon as they are alone she cries, ‘It’s home, home! India done, home begun.’
He is as glad as she.
‘Home, memsahib. And we’ve never had a real one before. Thank God, I’m able to give it you at last.’
She darts impulsively from one object in the room to another.
‘Look, these pictures. I’m sure they are all Amy’s work. They are splendid.’ With perhaps a moment’s misgiving, ‘Aren’t they?’
‘I couldn’t have done them,’ the Colonel says guardedly. He considers the hand-painted curtains. ‘She seems to have stopped everything in the middle. Still I couldn’t have done them. I expect this is what is called a cosy corner.’
But Alice has found something more precious. She utters little cries of rapture.
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, Robert, a baby’s shoe. My baby.’ She presses it to her as if it were a dove. Then she is appalled. ‘Robert, if I had met my baby coming along the street I shouldn’t have known her from other people’s babies.’
‘Yes, you would,’ the Colonel says hurriedly. ‘Don’t break down now. Just think, Alice; after to-day, you will know your baby anywhere.’