She followed with the others out into the fresh afternoon air, and saw it lowered into the grave.

Her mother lay there.

She forced her mind from the thought.

Rain began to fall before the clergyman had finished reading the service, and Uncle Preston put up an umbrella which he held over Sophia and Francis. Francis occupied himself, during the last few moments of the ceremony, by edging away from the umbrella until he stood bareheaded in the rain, his glasses misty with steam. He stared sternly into the distance with large pale blue eyes, and wished the beastly business were over. Once his hand went to his inner breast pocket. It was all right. What he had carried for three months was still there, safe and hidden.

The earth was sprinkled, the sexton moved forward and the crowd of relations broke up and turned away.

They stood in little groups under their umbrellas, peering at each other through the rain, hurrying forward to shake hands eagerly and to remind each other that the last time they had met was at poor Mildred’s funeral; that must have been a good eleven years ago.

Most of them began by looking critically and disapprovingly at Sophia and Francis, who stood a little apart, but soon they got so interested in exchanging gloomy reminiscences and telling each other that there were not many of us left now and wondering mournfully whose turn it would be next and asking how was Auntie Bessie’s catarrh and was poor May any better and what had become of poor Stanley, that they forgot to look carpingly at Sophia and Francis.

Sophia and Francis took the opportunity to stroll a few yards off and examine a tombstone.

‘What a crew,’ murmured Sophia, with her head on one side and a gentle, pensive expression on her face as she surveyed the stone. ‘Francis, I can’t help wishing we had just one decent relation. Suppose we’d come here today, and there had been an absolutely unknown first cousin, just back from Vienna – very tall, well dressed, with a sense of humour, knowing all about music and very well read. Think of it! The relief!’

‘He’d be only one more person to try and boss us about. There’re quite enough as it is.’

They were wandering slowly, aimlessly in the direction of the avenue leading to the gates. No one looked round at them.

Uncle Preston and Aunt Maxine were now haranguing the relations, and telling them that of course they must all come back to the surgery and have a little something. But the cousins and widowed sisters-in-law and distant connections hesitated; they did not wish to appear too eager to have a little something. They were coy; they must be persuaded.

Auntie Loo, Uncle Preston’s wife, saw Sophia and Francis escape. She saw Francis’s school overcoat and cap Sophia’s worn tweed suit and beret, fade among the weeping trees, the tombstones and the fine rain, but she did not want to pluck at anyone and raise the alarm. Poor little things, she thought, it’s hard on them. Let them run away, if they want to. And she looked placidly at Uncle Preston, and thought out a plan for dealing with his distress when he should discover the absence of Sophia and Francis.