A quarter of an hour later she followed the butcher's boy who was dragging her box down the stairs, dropping it with successive thuds from step to step. As she reached the hall, while she was hesitating as to whether she should go into the dining-room to say good-bye to Mrs Holt, the door opened and Mrs Holt came out. The two women looked at one another for the space of a second, like duellists about to cross swords. Then Mrs Holt held out her hand.
'Good-bye, Victoria,' she said, 'I'm sorry you're going. I know you're not to blame.'
'Thank you,' said Victoria icily. 'I'm sorry also, but it couldn't be helped.'
Mrs Holt heaved a large sigh. 'I suppose not,' she said.
Victoria withdrew her hand and went towards the door. The butcher's boy had already taken her box down, marking the whitened steps with two black lines.
'Shall I call a cab, mum?' he asked.
'Yes please,' said Victoria dreamily.
The youth went down the drive, his heels crunching into the gravel. Victoria stood at the top of the steps, looking out at the shrubs, one or two of which showed pale buds, standing sharp like jewels on the black stems. Mrs Holt came up behind her softly.
'I hope we don't part in anger, Victoria,' she said guiltily.
Victoria looked at her with faint amusement. True, anger is a cardinal sin.