It seemed to her that it was because, deep down inside her, she had
wanted him to go. Deep down inside her she had been afraid of the
unhappiness that would come through Roddy.
"And I don't think," her mother said presently, "it _could_ have been
very good for him, building that wall."
"You didn't know."
She thought: "I'd have known. If I'd been here it wouldn't have happened.
I wouldn't have let him. I'd no business to go away and leave him. I
might have known."
"Lord, if Thou hadst been here our brother had not died."
The yellow coffin swayed before her eyes, heaped with the white flowers.
Yellow and white. Roddy's dog. His yellow dog with a white breast and
white paws. And a rope round his neck. Roddy thought he had hanged him.
At seven she got up and dressed and dusted the drawing-room. She dusted
everything very carefully, especially the piano. She would never want to
play on it again.
The side door stood open. She went out. In the bed by the flagged path
she saw the sunk print of Roddy's foot and the dead daffodil stalk lying
in it. Mamma had been angry.
She had forgotten that. She had forgotten everything that happened in the
minutes before Catty had come down the passage.
She filled in the footprint and stroked the earth smooth above it, lest
Mamma should see it and remember.