"
"Grandfather, grandfather!"
To that appeal Mr. Stone responded: "Yes, what is it?"
But Thyme, thus challenged, knew not what to say, having spoken out of
terror.
"If the poor baby had lived," she stammered out, "it would have grown
up.... It's all for the best, isn't it?"
"Everything is for the best," said Mr. Stone. "'In those days men,
possessed by thoughts of individual life, made moan at death, careless
of the great truth that the world was one unending song.'"
Thyme thought: 'I have never seen him as bad as this!' She drew him on
more quickly. With deep relief she saw her father, latchkey in hand,
turning into the Old Square.
Stephen, who was still walking with his springy step, though he had come
on foot the whole way from the Temple, hailed them with his hat. It was
tall and black, and very shiny, neither quite oval nor positively round,
and had a little curly brim. In this and his black coat, cut so as to
show the front of him and cover the behind, he looked his best. The
costume suited his long, rather narrow face, corrugated by two short
parallel lines slanting downwards from his eyes and nostrils on either
cheek; suited his neat, thin figure and the close-lipped corners of his
mouth. His permanent appointment in the world of Law had ousted from his
life (together with all uncertainty of income) the need for putting on
a wig and taking his moustache off; but he still preferred to go
clean-shaved.
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