He said:
‘Nonsense, you are tired, that is all; it is awfully tiring going out in the evening; I am tired too.’
He put his arm round me and drew me close to him. I wanted to feel near to him, but I did not; I felt a long way off.
Two days later, we went up to Northumberland, to the farm-house on the Roman Wall, where we had stayed before.
We had a great deal of luggage, a cot and a pram, and a baby’s bath. I felt very proud of travelling with those things, but Walter did not like it.
‘It is awful,’ he said, ‘this family luggage. I suppose it will be like this now—for years!’
I minded that. It seemed to me sometimes that he resented Eleanor, that he would almost rather she were not there; I had hoped he would be pleased with her, as I was.
At the farm it was better; Walter liked being there; he went for long walks again, as we had done on our honeymoon. I could not go with him now, when he went a very long way, but I was happy at home with my baby.
IV
It seems like a dream now, that beginning of war; like something remembered very long ago, much longer ago than it really is. I cannot even remember, at what moment we realized, Walter and I, that war was coming, a war that would involve our country, I mean; that it would involve us personally, as individuals, we did not realize at that time at all; that came much later, gradually and painfully, step by step.