The guard was blowing his whistle.
"Be brave these next few months," she said again.
"I will," he answered. He added: "I shall go home."
"What? Home, Home to the millionaire soap-boiler?" (A touch of the old half-mocking Clare.)
"Yes. It's my home. They've always been very good to me."
"Of course they have. I'm glad you've realised it."
Then the train began to move. "Good-bye!" she said, holding out her hand.
"Good-bye!" he cried, taking it and clasping it quickly as he walked along the platform with the train. "See you again," he added, almost in a whisper.
She gave him such a smile, with tears streaming down her cheeks, as he would never, never forget.
When he went out again into the station-yard the fine rain was falling mercilessly. He felt miserable, sick with a new as well as an old misery, but stirred by a hope that would never let him go.