“Ernest Trapp,” read the Vicar.

“Richard John Vernon.”

“Timothy Dennis Watts.”

His name had sounded quite strange to her. She thought: I don’t care—I don’t see why it should be different from over here. Why couldn’t they have read out the officers’ names first? She’d heard that the names on the Memorial were put in the same way. That was really disgraceful, because, in fifty years’ time, nobody would know who anybody was.

The organ began to play, and the choir sang “Onward, Christian Soldiers” as the congregation filed out into the churchyard for the dedication. Mary appeared at the door and touched Lily’s elbow. They smiled faintly at each other. Anne was with Mary. And behind them was Edward Blake.

The Memorial Cross had been erected on the spur of land at the back of the church, overlooking the valley. The dark edge of the hill rose behind it, and everybody agreed that the site could not have been better chosen, although it was unfortunately not visible from the road. Kent, who had been waiting in the porch, came forward and gruffly whispered to Lily that the boy had brought up the wreath from Dobson’s. Apparently it was hidden away in one of the sheds at the back of the vestry, where the sexton kept his wheelbarrow and spades. Was it to be brought now, or later?

Lily wondered what other people were doing. They must have made some arrangement. If the wreath was fetched out now, who would hold it during the dedication? They mustn’t stand still either, or they would be left behind by the people on their way down to the Cross. On the impulse, Lily explained to Mr. Ramsbotham. He was unexpectedly helpful. He would go round with Kent and see about it at once; and then he would bring it to them, ready to be laid on the Cross. Lily thanked him with her eyes. Mr. Hardwick, not dashed by his earlier snub, appeared ready to give Papa his arm. People were very kind. Lily, emotional after the singing, felt a rush of kindness towards everybody, including Mary and Anne. In order to say something to her sister-in-law, for the pleasure of speaking to her, she asked where Maurice was.

“He couldn’t come,” said Mary.

Lily said “Oh,” and smiled; for no particular reason, except that she wanted to show Mary that she was feeling quite differently towards her today. Perhaps they might see more of each other, Lily thought, impulsively. But Mary was so difficult to understand. She smiled too. But her smile was somehow baffling. To Lily she seemed always to be keeping her distance, rather ironically.