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She did not see Clive or Hester for the next two days. Clive had already made a habit—she had hoped he would feel it so—of stopping to see her on his way to and from the station; light, unemphatic, but reviving moments, allowing no time for any sense of pressure. But he did not come either of those days and she had no glimpse of Hester; who was, no doubt, deeply engaged in feminism at Mrs. Travers’s.

From her windows she always watched for Robin being led to and from his school. His shortest way lay on the other side of the green and she had suppressed the desire to call out to him and have him stop; Hester, she felt sure, would not approve of that; but every day the sight of his little figure was a sad solace to her.

She was returning from her afternoon walk on the Tuesday when she saw Robin on the other side of the green with his nurse and she paused for a moment debating whether she might not justifiably cross over and walk beside him to the turning up to The Crofts; and as she told herself that abstention was still her wisest course, since the recent storm