Page:Monday or Tuesday (1921 Harcourt).pdf/77

 “That’s all your luggage?”

“Much obliged, I’m sure.”

(But why do you look about you? Hilda won’t come to the station, nor John; and Moggridge is driving at the far side of Eastbourne).

“I’ll wait by my bag, ma’am, that’s safest. He said he’d meet me. Oh, there he is! That’s my son.”

So they walk off together.

Well, but I’m confounded. Surely, Minnie, you know better! A strange young man. Stop! Till tell him—Minnie!—Miss Marsh!—I don’t know though. There’s something queer in her cloak as it blows. Oh, but it’s untrue, it’s indecent. Look how he bends as they reach the gateway. She finds her ticket. What’s the joke? Off they go, down the road, side by side. Well, my world’s done for! What do I stand on? What do I know? That’s not Minnie. There never was Moggridge. Who am I? Life’s bare as bone.

And yet the last look of them—he stepping