She thought with pleasure: ‘Then Charlie will want to kiss me too;’ and she looked out of the window, hoping to see him.
It was impenetrably dark, and she thought anxiously: ‘He won’t be able to find his way. He always hated the dark.’
‘Come on,’ said Julian. ‘You must come and wave good-bye to me.’
But still she delayed and peered out, looking with growing panic for Charlie.
All at once she saw him in the darkness outside. He was not in uniform, but in grey flannel shorts and a white shirt open at the neck,—the clothes of his childhood. He trailed himself haltingly, as if his feet hurt him.
‘Sh!’ said Julian in her ear. ‘He’s disguised himself.’
‘Ah, then he won’t get killed....’
‘No.’
She caught sight of his face. It was a terrible disguise,—the shrivelled, yellow mask of an ancient cretin. He looked at her vacantly, and she thought with a pang: ‘Ah! I must pretend I don’t know him.’
He passed out of sight with his queer clothes and his limp and his changed face,—all the careful paraphernalia of his travesty. Looking at him, she was seized with sudden horror. There was something wrong: they would see through it.