‘Here’s the bus. Goodbye, darling, I’ll write.’

Francis dropped both his hands on to her shoulders and kissed her firmly, then ran over to the bus. She saw his stern young face for a few seconds, while he fumbled in his pockets for the fare, and then the bus’s lights dwindled down the Don’s Mile. Too late did she remember that she had forgotten to borrow from him, and that she had only five shillings till Friday.

Oh well, thought Sophia, too tired to be anything but philosophical, I shall borrow from Celia, and if she hasn’t any, I shall ask Mr Piper to advance me some. He will. And, already soothed by the darkness, the freshness and silence all about her, she set off dreamily across the Heath on her way home.

Sophia liked being alone so much that often, when she came home from a walk with her cheeks cool yet glowing from the pressure of a west wind and her eyes filled with pictures of moving boughs, the uplifted faces of flowers, and the dance of water, she felt guilty. Everybody was so kind and so pleased to see her back again, everybody asked so placidly whether she had had a nice walk; and there she was, returned like a prisoner from his one day’s leave on parole! – having enjoyed herself more, so much more, than she could ever say, and remembering with a start how nice, interesting and affectionate the stay-at-homes were. For two hours, not a thought of the nice, interesting, affectionate ones had crossed her mind.

What did cross it? Nothing coherent. She was too busy inhaling smells, listening, recovering her balance when she tripped (which was, as we know, frequently) and looking.

Now, as she went home across the Heath, she looked up at the huge amber clouds which were rolling quickly, in toppling mountains, over the blue-black sky. Tiny stars glittered between the dun vapours, dimmed, were gone. She could not look at the clouds and also see where she was going, so she walked into a good many puddles and got her ankles splashed and her shoes loaded with mud. Halfway down Willow Hill, she sternly pulled herself together, turned to the right, and left the Heath for the pavement and the security of Church Avenue; she reminded herself that she would have to clean her shoes tonight, and dry her stockings. There was no point, none at all, in getting them wetter than they need be.

When she got to the house she began to walk quietly, and she crept down the area steps to the tradesmen’s entrance which she used as her own front door.

She did not want to meet her landlady, Mrs Parr.

This was not because Sophia owed back rent to Mrs Parr. It was because Mrs Parr, being a natural and primitive female, was extremely interested in births, marriages and deaths, and in the ceremonies attached to them. Sophia was not very natural or primitive; even her passion for being in the open air was unlike the passion of a primitive human being for stuffiness, enclosure and cosiness, and she was rather bored by the ceremonies which thrilled Mrs Parr.