I didn't know how to make the time pass. I was too restless to sit
down. I wouldn't let myself look out of the window to see the car come
along the drive. I dared not walk up and down like the caged thing I
was, lest the floor should creak, for the tower-room--the den--is over
the entrance-hall. I felt like a hunted animal--I, the one creature to
whom Jim Beckett deliberately meant to be cruel! I, in this room which
was a tribute to his kindness of heart, his faithfulness, his loyalty!
But why should it not be so? I had no right to call upon these qualities
of his.
The horn of the little Red Cross taxi! It must be turning in at the
gate. How well I knew its gay, conceited tootle! An eighth of a mile,
and the car would reach the house. Even the poor worn-out taxi couldn't
be five minutes doing that!...
If I ran to the window between the towers I could see! No, I wouldn't; I
_couldn't_. I should scream--or faint--or do something else idiotic, if
I saw Jim Beckett getting out of the car, and his mother flying to meet
him. I had never felt like this in my whole life--not in any suspense,
not in any danger.
Instinctively I walked as far from the window as I could. I sought
sanctuary under Brian's cathedral picture--the picture that had
introduced me to Jim. Yes, sanctuary I sought, for in that room my
brother's work was my one excuse to intrude!
By this time the car must have arrived. The front door must have flown
open in welcome.
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