‘To-morrow; at half-past two.’
Then I thought:
‘Hugo.’
I asked Mrs. Sebright if she would look after the children for
me the next afternoon. She had done so sometimes before, when
there was no maid I could trust, and she said she would.
‘I want to see Hugo again, down in London,’ I said. ‘He will
only be here for two days, just now.’
‘Poor young man,’ Mrs. Sebright said, ‘he looks very ill. Has
he had shell shock, do you think, at any time?’
I said I didn’t think so, but I felt a rush of gratitude to Mrs.
Sebright for her kindly tone. I bent down suddenly and kissed
her, and she looked surprised.
‘Poor boys,’ she said, ‘poor boys, I pity them indeed.’
And it struck me as very strange that she should class Hugo in
any group—as one among others like him—he who to me had always
seemed unique; so wholly different from all other people.