Before the sigh had come to an end Miss Fitzgerald and Miss Pym had detached themselves, and complete with their red parasols and swinging baskets hurried away. If they were still to make anything of the afternoon not a moment more must be wasted. They were well down the road under the chestnut trees coming out into leaf before Miss Pym observed rather breathlessly: ‘Strange how they still go on touching one——’

‘Strange – so profoundly.’

‘These goings away.’ She sighed over a diminishing vista of hundreds. ‘Even when they’re simply spectacular, not at all partings … Emily, did you “say” anything?’ she added quickly, to hint that the answer should be in the negative. ‘I didn’t feel that one could … I didn’t feel that one could …’

‘I must confess that I did. My wretched impulsiveness,’ said Miss Fitzgerald, and put on that rather annoying expression of self-deprecation.

‘Impulsiveness … oh!’ said Miss Pym and smiled a discreet shade of pity.

‘I suppose one must face one’s heredity. All the Fitzgeralds——’

‘I know,’ said Miss Pym rather sharply. They had begun to climb the hill; the sun was full on them and Miss Pym, pricking all over with her own particularly uncomfortable kind of heat that went in instead of going out was anxious not to hear about the Fitzgeralds. She was anxious that Emily should not begin to rehearse those unfortunate (but striking) examples of Fitzgerald impulsiveness back through the ages. An inclination to do this was Emily’s weakness, and it was always when disappointment, anxiety or lassitude should have drawn them together that they had to be most aware of one another’s weaknesses. They had faced this out and discussed it with one another simply and frankly. It was wonderful to have somebody, always there, with whom one could discuss the most difficult phases of one’s relationship (afterwards) simply and frankly. Whoever might come or might go, there would always be that. Friendship is such a wonderful basis in Life – or has such a wonderful basis in Life; either, she thought was true. Miss Pym thought of her friend Emily with tenderness, but wished that she would not pant in this exaggerated way to show that she was being hurried too fast up the hill. If she were being hurried too fast up the hill, why couldn’t she say so? ‘If we’re going too fast I expect you to tell me,’ she said at last in a controlled voice.

‘I thought we must be doing this for a bet,’ said Miss Fitzgerald, and panted wrathfully.

‘Who did you think I had betted?’

‘Isn’t it “had bet”?’