’The idea!  Charlotte ’ll be down to do those directly.  If you really don’t find it too cold here, you may tell me something about the concert.’

’Yes, I’ll tell you, but I must work at the same time.  I want to, I must!  Yes, I shall do the knives.  Please don’t be cross!’

She was bent on it; Mrs. Grail quietly acquiesced.  For ten minutes Thyrza wrought strenuously at the knife-board, speaking only a few words.  Then the girl Charlotte made her appearance.

‘Now, Thyrza,’ Mrs. Grail said, ’if you really want something to do, suppose you go and dust upstairs.  You haven’t dusted yet, have you, Charlotte?’

‘No, mum, not yet.’

Thyrza rubbed away for a minute longer, then agreed to go up to the lighter work.  Her head had not profited by the violent exercise.

Dusting is an occupation not incompatible with reverie.  How hard it was to keep her mind from the subject which she had determined not to think of!  As often as her face turned to the sunlight, that longing came back.

Mrs. Grail joined her presently.  We know that the old lady had no fondness for domestic bustle.  She sat down, and at length persuaded Thyrza to do the same.

At half-past eleven Mrs. Grail said: 

’My dear, I think you ought to go out for a little, while it’s so bright.  I’m not at all sure that the sun ’ll last till dinnertime; it’s getting rather uncertain.  Just go into Kennington Road and back.’

Thyrza shook her head.

‘Not this morning.  I’m a little tired.’

’Yes, but it’ll make you feel more cheerful, and you’ll have an appetite for dinner, which I’m sure you haven’t had for a week and more.  How ever you live on the few mouthfuls you eat is a wonder to me.  You ought to have half an hour’s walk every day, indeed you ought.’

It was sorely against her will to go forth, yet desire called to her from the sunlit ways.  Slowly down the stairs, slowly to the end of Walnut Tree Walk.

Look at that white billow of cloud on its fathomless ocean!  Even now there were clouds like that high up over Eastbourne.  One such had hung above her as she drove with Mrs. Ormonde up Beachy Head.  At this moment the sea was singing; this breeze, which swept the path of May, made foam flash upon the pebbled shore.  Sky and water met on that line of mystery; far away and beyond was the coast of France.

More quickly now.  Whither was she tending?  She had at first kept southwards, straight along Kennington Road; now she had crossed, and was turning into a street which might—­only might—­conduct her round into Brook Street.  Desire was in her feet; she could no longer check them; she must hasten on whithersoever they led.

Oh, why had she left the house!  Why had Mrs. Grail—­a cruel mother —­bidden her go forth when her will was to stay, and work, and forget!  Could she not stop, even now, and turn?