This Saturday Frances's Day dwindled and melted away and closed, after its manner; only Vera and Stephen lingered. They stayed on talking to Michael long after everybody else had gone.
Stephen said he had come to say good-bye to Michael's people and to make a proposal to Michael himself. He was going to Ireland.
Vera interrupted him with passion.
"He isn't. He hasn't any proposal to make. He hasn't come to say good-bye."
Her restless, unhappy eyes turned to him incessantly, as if, more than ever, she was afraid that he would escape her, that he would go off God knew where.
God knew where he was going, but Vera did not believe that he was going to Ireland. He had talked about going to Ireland for years, and he had never gone.
Stephen looked as if he did not see her; as if he did not even see Michael very distinctly.
"I'm going," he said, "to Ireland on Monday week, the third of August. I mayn't come back for long enough. I may not come back at all."
"That's the sort of thing he keeps on saying."
"I may not come back at all. So I want you to take over the Review for me. Ellis and my secretary will show you how it stands. You'll know what to do. I can trust you not to let it down."