'Perhaps Millicent wanted to have it in her bedroom,' said Mrs Skinner.
'I should have noticed it.
Besides, Millicent has several photographs of Harold.
She keeps them locked up.'
Mrs Skinner had thought it very peculiar that her daughter should have no photographs of Harold in her room.
Indeed she had spoken of it once, but Millicent had made no reply.
Millicent had been strangely silent since she came back from Borneo, and had not encouraged the sympathy Mrs Skinner would have been so willing to show her.
She seemed unwilling to speak of her great loss.
Sorrow took people in different ways.
Her husband had said the best thing was to leave her alone.
The thought of him turned her ideas to the party they were going to.
'Father asked if I thought he ought to wear a top-hat,' she said.
'I said I thought it was just as well to be on the safe side.'
It was going to be quite a grand affair.
They were having ices, strawberry and vanilla, from Boddy, the confectioner, but the Hey woods were making the iced coffee at home.
Everyone would be there.
They had been asked to meet the Bishop of Hong Kong, who was staying with the Canon, an old college friend of his, and he was going to speak on the Chinese missions.
Mrs Skinner, whose daughter had lived in the East for eight years and whose son-in-law had been Resident of a district in Borneo, was in a flutter of interest.
Naturally it meant more to her than to people who had never had anything to do with the Colonies and that sort of thing.
'What can they know of England who only England know?' as Mr Skinner said.
He came into the room at that moment. He was a lawyer, as his father had been before him, and he had offices in Lincoln's Inn Fields.
He went up to London every morning and came down every evening.
He was only able to accompany his wife and daughters to the Canon's garden-party because the Canon had very wisely chosen a Saturday to have it on.
Mr Skinner looked very well in his tail-coat and pepper-and-salt trousers.
He was not exactly dressy, but he was neat.
He looked like a respectable family solicitor, which indeed he was; his firm never touched work that was not perfectly above board, and if a client went to him with some trouble that was not quite nice, Mr Skinner would look grave.
'I don't think this is the sort of case that we very much care to undertake,' he said.
'I think you'd do better to go elsewhere.'
He drew towards him his writing-block and scribbled a name and address on it.
He tore off a sheet of paper and handed it to his client.
'If I were you I think I would go and see these people.
If you mention my name I believe they'll do anything they can for you.'
Mr Skinner was clean-shaven and very bald.
His pale lips were tight and thin, but his blue eyes were shy.
He had no colour in his cheeks and his face was much lined.
'I see you've put on your new trousers,' said Mrs Skinner.
'I thought it would be a good opportunity,' he answered.
'I was wondering if I should wear a buttonhole.'
'I wouldn't, father,' said Kathleen.
'I don't think it's awfully good form.'
'A lot of people will be wearing them,' said Mrs Skinner.
'Only clerks and people like that,' said Kathleen.
'The Heywoods have had to ask everybody, you know.
And besides, we are in mourning.'
'I wonder if there'll be a collection after the Bishop's address,' said Mr Skinner.
'I should hardly think so,' said Mrs Skinner.
'I think it would be rather bad form,' agreed Kathleen.
'It's as well to be on the safe side,' said Mr Skinner.
'I'll give for all of us.
I was wondering if ten shillings would be enough or if I must give a pound.'