So little did he take him seriously that at the very end of July he went up to London for the inside of the week (he went by train so as to save the car) while Charlie was still at the Old Grange.

* * * * *

It was the week of the international crisis, and European mobilization was occupying Jimmy’s mind to the exclusion of other matters.  Still, you could hardly suppose that it was the crisis that was taking him up to London.  I remember thinking he had run away from Charlie Thesiger, because he bored him.

He left on Tuesday, the twenty-eighth, and he was to be back on Friday, the thirty-first, and Charlie was to leave with Norah and me and our nurse and Baby on the Monday following, when our fortnight was up.

So on Friday afternoon I was a little astonished to find my sister-in-law, dressed in her town suit of white cloth, drinking tea at three o’clock before going up to London.  She simply stated the fact that she was going up.  Norah had said she might stay in our house and she hoped I wouldn’t mind.

When I suggested that it would surely be nicer for us all to go up together on Monday she looked at me with a certain long-suffering expression that she had for me at times, and said that wouldn’t suit her, since she had got to go to-day.  She was of course awfully sorry to leave us, but Norah understood, and Jimmy would look after us very well.

No.  She wasn’t going up by Midhurst.  She was going by Selham.

She rose.  I noticed the impatient energy of her little hands as they knotted her veil under her chin.  I looked up her trains and found that there was none from Selham till four forty-five.  I pointed out to her that there was no hurry; she had missed the two fifty-five, which had left Selham fifteen minutes ago, and she had an hour to spare even if the car took half an hour getting to the station. (The day was fine and there was no dust.  Even Jimmy couldn’t have objected to her taking the car.)

But she said she hadn’t missed the two fifty-five; she wasn’t trying for it; and she wasn’t going in the car; it would be wanted to meet Jimmy at Midhurst Station; and no—­no—­no—­she didn’t want a cab from Midhurst.  She was going to walk.

I said it was absurd for her to walk four miles on a hot day like this, and she replied that the day would be cool enough if only I’d keep quiet.  (She was still long-suffering.)

Then of course I said I’d walk with her.

But that was too much for her, and she stamped her foot and said I’d do nothing of the kind.  She didn’t want anybody to walk with her.

And when I inquired about her luggage—­But I can’t repeat what she said about her luggage!

Then she softened suddenly, as her way was, and kissed Norah, and said I was a dear, and she was sorry for snapping my head off, but it was all right.  Norah knew all about it.  She’d explain.