After breakfast, I bathed the baby, and took the little girls
for their walk. The morning passed so uneventfully, in so ordinary
a way, that I thought again:
‘That could not have been true!’
When they were in bed for their midday rest I took the paper
up again and looked, and it was there:
‘Hugo John Laurier, Second Rifle Brigade . . .’
And I turned all cold . . . cold like a stone . . . and I thought:
‘I must see Guy . . . I must see Guy at once . . .’
I could not go out yet, not till the afternoon; then I went upstairs
and put on my hat and coat; then I went out and along to the
tube station, and got into the tube. I changed at Leicester Square,
and got into another tube, and that went very fast, and I got
to Dover Street. Then I got out and walked into Park Lane, and
along Park Lane to the hospital where Guy was. It was not the
time for visitors, not for another hour, the nurse told me so
at the door, but I said it was important, I said it was bad news.
She looked at me hard, oddly I thought too, and then she told
me to wait. She went away and came back, and then she told me
to go upstairs. I knew my way to Guy well enough by this time,
and I walked up the stairs, wondering what to do.
Diana met me at the top of the stairs. She smiled her flashing
smile.
‘Hulloa,’ she said, ‘what a funny time to come!’