The remark, which was not answered, seemed further to contribute to a gloom that had taken the place of the affable Mr Milton and which, momentarily, to both their perceptions, darkened the sunshine. Miss Warren now rose abruptly, shook out her pleated skirts and for the first time unfurling her parasol tilted it from her shoulder at an angle with a concentration upon these details of her elegance which implied dismally to Cordelia the exclusion of Mr Milton even from memory. With a renewed, more genuine smile to Cordelia she suggested that they should continue their walk. Except for a few arcs and triangles in the gravel before the bench the friendly clergyman might never have existed.

They followed the loops of the road in their gradual descent towards the cemetery. Sydney was talkative; they discussed novels, the difficulties of arithmetic and the superiority of cats to dogs. Once she turned and looked back at the benches as though horrified by the thought that they would still be there. Cordelia asked, ‘Have you forgotten something?’ and she replied, Oh no,’ in confusion. It transpired that Mr Milton had been recalled by an engagement of some importance, till then forgotten. Cordelia, who was able to estimate the probable importance of any engagement locally, said nothing. She suspected him to be a feeble walker, and moreover a man of quick appetites as quickly forgotten. She ate his dates and ceased to regret him; allowing the stones to accumulate in one cheek and spitting them out by half-dozens with great force. She proceeded downhill beside Sydney with a hop-skip-and-a-jump, kicking up the powdery dust so that it swirled round her feet and, settling, iced the top of her shoes. She derived keen pleasure from this, also from a sense of the enviableness of walking with this appearance of intimacy with the distinguished Miss Warren. She hoped in vain they might be met by some of her friends.

‘I do think two’s better company,’ she said at last, ‘but I hope this hasn’t been a disappointment to you?’