Better that she herself should do this thing than that her own child
should be deprived of air and light and all the just environment of
her youth and beauty. 'She must come back--she must listen to me!' she
thought. 'We will begin together; we will start a nice little creche of
our own, or--perhaps Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace could find us some regular
work on one of her committees.'
Then suddenly she conceived a thought which made her blood run
positively cold. What if it were a matter of heredity? What if Thyme had
inherited her grandfather's single-mindedness? Martin was giving proof
of it. Things, she knew, often skipped a generation and then set in
again. Surely, surely, it could not have done that! With longing, yet
with dread, she waited for the sound of Stephen's latchkey. It came at
its appointed time.
Even in her agitation Cecilia did not forget to spare him, all she
could. She began by giving him a kiss, and then said casually: "Thyme
has got a whim into her head."
"What whim?"
"It's rather what you might expect," faltered Cecilia, "from her going
about so much with Martin."
Stephen's face assumed at once an air of dry derision; there was no love
lost between him and his young nephew-in-law.
"The Sanitist?" he said; "ah! Well?"
"She has gone off to do work-some place in the Euston Road.
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