On the door-step stood Godfrey Neale, in mud-splashed overalls. His motor-cycle stood out in the road.
"Oh, you are b—back," he said. "I'm on my way to Cayton. I just looked in to see if you were all right."
He came in and shut the door behind him. The hall was almost dark, but Muriel did not lead him into the sitting-room. She could see his tall figure towering above her, but she never moved.
"I saw you this morning," he said.
"Yes."
"What are you going to do?"
"Mother is taking Aunt Rose back to-night to Marshington. I am staying to pack and to look after Uncle George."
"You don't mind? You won't be nervous?"
"No, I shan't mind."
Her hands hung heavily at her sides. The gloom of the hall oppressed her. Her head ached dully. There was something that she wanted to remember, but could not, for her mind was empty of all thought.