His mother had done the same. They ate little, at some length, and
talked of his father's catalogue. The show was arranged for October, and
beyond clerical detail there was nothing more to do.
After dinner she put on a cloak and they went out; walked a little,
talked a little, till they were standing silent at last beneath the
oak-tree. Ruled by the thought: 'If I show anything, I show all,' Jon
put his arm through hers and said quite casually:
"Mother, let's go to Italy."
Irene pressed his arm, and said as casually:
"It would be very nice; but I've been thinking you ought to see and do
more than you would if I were with you."
"But then you'd be alone."
"I was once alone for more than twelve years. Besides, I should like to
be here for the opening of Father's show."
Jon's grip tightened round her arm; he was not deceived.
"You couldn't stay here all by yourself; it's too big."
"Not here, perhaps. In London, and I might go to Paris, after the show
opens. You ought to have a year at least, Jon, and see the world."
"Yes, I'd like to see the world and rough it. But I don't want to leave
you all alone."
"My dear, I owe you that at least. If it's for your good, it'll be for
mine. Why not start tomorrow? You've got your passport."
"Yes; if I'm going it had better be at once. Only--Mother--if--if I
wanted to stay out somewhere--America or anywhere, would you mind coming
presently?"
"Wherever and whenever you send for me. But don't send until you really
want me."
Jon drew a deep breath.
"I feel England's choky."
They stood a few minutes longer under the oak-tree--looking out to where
the grand stand at Epsom was veiled in evening. The branches kept the
moonlight from them, so that it only fell everywhere else--over the
fields and far away, and on the windows of the creepered house behind,
which soon would be to let.