"Fancy meeting you!" gasped Joanna.

"Er--how are you, Miss Godden?"

"Do you know when there's a train to Rye?"

"I'm sorry, I don't. I've just been saying good-bye to my son
Lawrence--he's off to Africa or somewhere, but I couldn't wait till his
train came in. I've got to go over to St. Pancras and catch the 10.50
for the north."

"Lawrence!"

Thank goodness, that had put her on another scent--now she would let him
go.

"Yes--he's in the station. You'll see him if you're quick."

Joanna turned away, and he saw that the tears were running down her
face. The woman had been drinking, that accounted for it all ... well,
he wished Lawrence joy of her. It would do him good to have a drunken
woman falling on his neck on a public platform.

The porter said there was not a train for Rye for another hour. He
suggested that Joanna should put her luggage in the cloak-room and go
and get herself a cup of tea--the porter knew the difference between a
drunken woman and one who is merely faint from trouble and want of her
breakfast. But Joanna's mind was somehow obsessed by the thought of
Lawrence--her brother-in-law as she still called him in her heart--she
wanted to see him--she remembered his kindness long ago ... and in her
sorrow she was going back to the sorrow of those days ... somehow she
felt as if Martin had just died, as if she had just come out of North
Farthing House, alone, as she had come then--and now Lawrence was here,
as he had been then, to kiss her and say "Dear Jo"....

"What platform does the train for Africa start from?" she asked the
porter.

"Well, lady, I can't rightly say. The only boat-train from here this
morning goes to Folkestone, and that's off--but most likely the
gentleman ud be going from Waterloo, and the trains for Waterloo start
from number seven."

The porter took her to number seven, and at the barrier she caught sight
of a familiar figure sitting on a bench. Father Lawrence's bullet head
showed above the folds of his cloak; by his side was a big shapeless
bundle and his eyes were fixed on the station roof. He started violently
when a large woman suddenly sat down beside him and burst into tears.

"Lawrence!" sobbed Joanna--"Lawrence!"

"Joanna!"

He was too startled to say anything more, but the moment did not admit
of much conversation. Joanna sat beside him, bent over her knees, her
big shoulders shaking with sobs which were not always silent. Lawrence
made himself as l