"So you've come home," she said, "to stay?"
"Yes, we all do. It's what we look forward to out there."
"I know." With a little hospitable gesture and a step backward she brought him in.
They had not mentioned the major who was gone, nor had they mentioned the years that had passed since their last meeting, yet suddenly, without any premonition, those two turned their eyes away from each other, to avoid bursting senselessly into tears. An almost inconceivable disaster, yet one for the moment perilously imminent.
Yet neither of them was thinking of Major Lonsdale nor of anything so grievous as death; they were thinking of those terrifying little wrinkles round their eyes, and of the little up-and-down lines that would never disappear, and something inside them both gave suddenly away, melted, flooding them inside with tears that must not be shed.
She held out her hand for his hat and stick. For an instant they both felt a deep constraint, and as he was getting out of his coat each wondered if the other had noticed it.
Ayling turned about and stumbled awkwardly over a small hassock on the floor, and they both laughed, which helped them recover themselves.
"How long has it really been?" she asked, as she faced him beside the fire.
"Twenty-five years." He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Twenty-five years!"
"You must feel the prodigal son!"