"Oh yes, I'm glad. It was a beautiful wedding. And she is a sweet girl. But there's nothing makes you feel so old as weddings, somehow. They make you realise how much of life lies behind you."
This intimate talk was interrupted by the increasing crowd that thronged the platform.
"Well, cheer up! Here they come!" said Bundy.
And Mrs. Bundy, instantly superior to grievous meditations, ran to meet the little group, with smiles and tenderness. She made no scruple of kissing Arthur openly, embraced Elizabeth with fervour, wrung Vickars's hand, to the last moment bought them books, papers, and magazines, and whispered various occult directions for the attainment of health and happiness into Arthur's ear, much as she had done years before when he went to school for the first time. And then came the crowded sensations of the moment when the shrill whistle sounded, the wheels moved, and the train sped into the spacious sunshine.
For Arthur, newly married, was leaving the city of so many tragic memories for ever; Vickars also had decided to accompany Arthur and Elizabeth to Kootenay. Each felt that with the death of Masterman the last tie to England was snapped.
As the train flashed on past trim suburban villas, into the greenness of the open country, they talked in hushed tones of the life that lay behind them.
"One feels a little like a recreant at leaving it all," said Vickars. "It is such a big thing, this London. And, when all's said and done, there's far more heroism packed into those struggling, drudging London lives than is found in a thousand battlefields."
"You've done your part, father. You, at least, need have no compunctions," said Elizabeth.
"I've done a little—how little! You didn't think, when I was speaking of heroism, that I meant myself, did you, my child?"
"I only meant what I said, father. You have done your part."