“Don't you think I'd do the same?”
“I know you would.”
“Then what 's the good of asking me what I 'd do?” said Unity.
“Talk like this helps.”
Unity sought his hand again.
“It does,” she said gently.
There was silence for a while. The white, wall-inclosed houses of Maida Vale, gay in the sunshine, flashed by them. She gripped his hand harder.
“But supposing he 's dead, supposing he 's dead.”
“Let us suppose nothing, my dear,” said Herold.
The cab stopped at Fairmont, Ossington Road. Herold gave Unity his hand to alight, and together they went through the tiny front garden, now bright with geraniums and petunias and pansies, into the house.