‘Dearest, does that matter? Isn’t every one afraid? It is the
people who are afraid and go, that are the bravest; and you tried
to go.’
He said:
‘Yes; but I haven’t gone. I don’t suppose now that I shall.’
Eleanor pushed herself against his knees.
She called:
‘Dadda, Dadda,’ and beat him with her brick.
At last he noticed her and picked her up on to his knee.
‘Well, Baby,’ he said, ‘are you glad that Dadda is not going
to the War?’
‘Dadda dee-ar,’ Eleanor repeated; she laughed and grabbed at
his glasses.
Walter put her down again and she began to scream.
Walter put his hands to his head and stood up.
‘Do make her be quiet, Helen,’ he said. ‘I can’t stand the noise.’
I tried to quiet Eleanor, but she went on crying. Walter made
for the door, distractedly, and went out.
When at last I had pacified Eleanor, I sat down again in my chair
and tried to think; but I could not. It seemed to me then, that
I was too tired even to realize my own relief. I felt numb and
stupid.
Then Eleanor stumbled over a footstool, and fell, and again she
began to scream. I looked at the clock on the chimney-piece;
it was bedtime, past bedtime. I picked Eleanor up, but she was
angry; she kicked me, and went quite stiff. I struggled with
her and carried her off to bed.