‘I’m all right, mother,’ he said. ‘There’s no need to worry about ME, I assure you.’

‘Let the dead bury their dead — don’t go and bury yourself along with them — that’s what I tell you. I know you well enough.’

He did not answer this, not knowing what to say. The mother sat bunched up in silence, her beautiful white hands, that had no rings whatsoever, clasping the pommels of her arm-chair.

‘You can’t do it,’ she said, almost bitterly. ‘You haven’t the nerve. You’re as weak as a cat, really — always were. Is this young woman staying here?’

‘No,’ said Gerald. ‘She is going home tonight.’