w her.

Victoria looked up from the landing. Jack was standing with bent head,
one hand on the banister. 'The only thing you can do for me is to go
away,' she said coldly. 'I shall come up again in five minutes with
Effie. I suppose you will not want us to find you outside my bedroom
door.'

She went downstairs. When she came up again with the maid, who carried a
large brown cardboard box, Jack was nowhere to be seen.

A quarter of an hour later she followed the butcher's boy who was
dragging her box down the stairs, dropping it with successive thuds from
step to step. As she reached the hall, while she was hesitating as to
whether she should go into the dining-room to say good-bye to Mrs Holt,
the door opened and Mrs Holt came out. The two women looked at one
another for the space of a second, like duellists about to cross swords.
Then Mrs Holt held out her hand.

'Good-bye, Victoria,' she said, 'I'm sorry you're going. I know you're
not to blame.'

'Thank you,' said Victoria icily. 'I'm sorry also, but it couldn't be
helped.'

Mrs Holt heaved a large sigh. 'I suppose not,' she said.

Victoria withdrew her hand and went towards the door. The butcher's boy
had already taken her box down, marking the whitened steps with two
black lines.

'Shall I call a cab, mum?' he asked.

'Yes please,' said Victoria dreamily.

The youth went down the drive, his heels crunching into the gravel.
Victoria stood at the top of the steps, looking out at the shrubs, one
or two of which showed pale buds, standing sharp like jewels on the
black stems. Mrs Holt came up behind her softly.

'I hope we don't part in anger, Victoria,' she said guiltily.

Victoria looked at her with faint amusement. True, anger is a cardinal
sin.

'Oh! no, not at all,' she answered. 'I quite understand.'

'Don't be afraid to give me as a reference,' said Mrs Holt.

'Thank you,' said Victoria. 'I shan't forget.'

'And if ever you're in trouble, come to me.'

'You're very kind,' said Victoria. Mrs Holt was kind, she felt. She
understood her better now. Much of her sternness oozed out of her. A
mother defending her son knows no pity, thought Victoria; perhaps it's
wrong to resent it. It's nature's way of keeping the young alive.

The cab came trotting up the drive and stopped. The butcher's boy was
loading the trunk upon the roof. Victoria turned to Mrs Holt and took
her hand.

'Good-bye,' she said, 'you've been very good to me. Don't think I'm