r mother.

"Roger and I might go in together," Henry suggested. "I had a letter
from him saying he thought he would join soon. Rachel's going to live in
the country...."

"She can come here if she likes," Mrs. Graham interjected. "You'd better
tell her that when you go to town. She can stay with us until the war's
over...."

"There's the baby, of course!" Henry reminded her.

"I know," she answered. "I'd like to hear a baby in this house
again...."

2

London was strangely sensitive, easily exalted, easily depressed,
listening avidly to rumours, even when they were clearly absurd. It was
the least English of the cities, far, far less English than the villages
and country towns. London's nerves were often jangled, but the nerves of
Boveyhayne were never jangled. London jumped up and down like a
Jack-in-the-box, but Boveyhayne moved steadily on. There were times when
London was so un-English as to believe that England might be beaten ...
but Boveyhayne never imagined that for a moment. Boveyhayne did not
think of the defeat of England, because it had never occurred to
Boveyhayne that England could be beaten. Old Widger would sometimes say,
"They Germans be cunning!" or "Us'll 'ave to 'it a bit 'arder avore us
knocks 'un out!" but Old Widger never imagined for a moment that "'un,"
as he always called the Kaiser, would not sooner or later get knocked
out, and so he went on with his work, pausing now and then to say,
"'Er's a reg'lar cunnin' old varmint, 'er be!" almost with as much
admiration as if he were talking of a fox or an otter that had eluded
the hounds many times. But the cunningest fox falls to the hounds in the
end of some chase, and Widger did not doubt that "Keyser" would fall,
too. Boveyhayne, was very English in its reserves and its dignity.
London might squeal for reprisals, but Boveyhayne never squealed. When
the Germans torpedoed a merchant ship, Old Widger said, "It hain't very
manly, be it, sir?" and that was all. Old Widger was not indifferent or
without imagination ... but he had self-respect, and he could not squeal
like a frantic rabbit even when he was in pain. He could hit, and he
could hit hard, but he did not care to claw and scratch and bite!...

Henry disliked London then, but he comforted himself with the thought
that it resembled all capital cities, that its population was not a
native population, but one that shifted and changed and had no
tradition. Old Widger had lived in the sa