Well, if she wouldn't look at him when he was alive, she might show some

feeling now he's dead. (So Justice.) She showed no feeling. That is to say, none perceptible to the eyes of

Justice.

On Thursday morning she heard from Tyson. A short note: "I am more sorry

than words can say. I wish I could be with you, but I'm kept in this

infernal place till the beginning of next week. I hope the little man

will pull through. Take care of yourself," and the usual formula.

She sat down and wrote a telegram, brutally brief, as telegrams must be.

"Died yesterday. Funeral Friday, two o'clock. Can you come?"

Two hours later the answer came in one word--"Impossible." She flushed

violently and set her face like a flint.

But she showed no feeling. None when they screwed the baby into a box

lined with white satin; none when they lowered him into his grave and

piled flowers and earth upon him; none when, as they drove home from the

funeral, Mrs. Wilcox's pent-up emotions broke loose in a torrent of

words.

Having gone through so much, it occurred to Mrs. Wilcox that the time had

now come to look a little on the bright side of things. "Well," she began

with a faint perfunctory sigh, "I am thankful we've had a fine day. The

sunshine makes one hope. You'll remember, Molly, it was just the same at

your poor father's funeral. We had a sudden gleam of sunlight between the

showers. There were showers, for my new crape was ruined. And in December

we might have had snow or pouring rain--so bad for the clergyman--and

gentlemen, if they take their hats off. Some don't; and very sensible

too. They catch such awful colds at funerals, standing about in their wet

feet, and no one likes to be the first to put up an umbrella. I didn't

see Captain Stanistreet in the church--did you?--nor yet at the grave.

Rather strange of him. I think under the circumstances he might have

come--Nevill's oldest friend. Did you know Miss Batchelor was in church!

She was. Not in the chancel--away at the back. You couldn't see her. I

think it showed very nice feeling in her to come, and to send those

lovely roses too--from her own greenhouse. I must say everybody has been

most kind, and there wasn't a hitch in the arrangements. I often think

you have only to be in real trouble to know who your true friends are.

I'm sure the sympathy--and the flowers--you wouldn't have known he was

lying in his little coffin--and Swinny--that woman has feeling. I saw

her--sobbing as if her heart would break. We misjudged her, Molly, we did

indeed. Really, her devotion at the last--"

At this point Molly turned her back on her mother and looked out of

the window. They were going up the village street now, and a hard

tearless face was presented to a highly emotional group of spectators.

All Drayton Parva was alive to the fact that Mrs. Nevill Tyson was an

unnatural mother. "I'm sure the villagers did everything they could

to show their respect. There was Pinker's father, and Ashby, at the

gate--with their hats off. And for Baby--poor little darling, if he only

knew! Well, it shows what they think of you and Nevill. You've got mud on

your skirt, dear--off the wheel getting into the carriage. Pinker should

have been more careful. How wise you were to get that good serge. It's

everlasting. At any rate it'll last you as long as you want it. Ah-h!

My poor child"--she laid her hand on Mrs. Nevill Tyson's averted

shoulder--"you'll not fret, will you, now? No--you're too brave, I

know. The more I think of it the more I feel that it's all for the best.

Think--if he'd lived to be older you'd have cared more, and it would

have been harder then--when he was running about and playing. You can't

have the same feeling for a little baby. And he was so delicate, too, you

really couldn't have wished it. He had your father's constitution. And if

you'd tried to teach him anything, he'd just have got water on the brain.

Ah-h-h-h! Depend upon it, it'll bring you and Nevill closer together."




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