You are not needed.'
'No, I don't suppose I can do any good,' he answered. 'It's just how it affects us, you see.'
'You like to be affected—don't you?
It's quite nuts for you?
You would have to be important.
You have no need to stop at home.
Why don't you go away!'
These sentences, evidently the ripened grain of many dark hours, took Gerald by surprise.
'I don't think it's any good going away now, mother, at the last minute,' he said, coldly.
'You take care,' replied his mother. 'You mind YOURSELF—that's your business.
You take too much on yourself.
You mind YOURSELF, or you'll find yourself in Queer Street, that's what will happen to you.
You're hysterical, always were.'
'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.'
'Then she'd better have the dog-cart.
Does she go far?'
'Only to Beldover.'
'Ah!'
The elderly woman never looked at Gudrun, yet she seemed to take knowledge of her presence.
'You are inclined to take too much on yourself, Gerald,' said the mother, pulling herself to her feet, with a little difficulty.
'Will you go, mother?' he asked, politely.
'Yes, I'll go up again,' she replied.
Turning to Gudrun, she bade her
'Good-night.'
Then she went slowly to the door, as if she were unaccustomed to walking.
At the door she lifted her face to him, implicitly.
He kissed her.
'Don't come any further with me,' she said, in her barely audible voice. 'I don't want you any further.'
He bade her good-night, watched her across to the stairs and mount slowly.
Then he closed the door and came back to Gudrun.
Gudrun rose also, to go.
'A queer being, my mother,' he said.
'Yes,' replied Gudrun.
'She has her own thoughts.'
'Yes,' said Gudrun.
Then they were silent.
'You want to go?' he asked. 'Half a minute, I'll just have a horse put in—'
'No,' said Gudrun. 'I want to walk.'
He had promised to walk with her down the long, lonely mile of drive, and she wanted this.
'You might JUST as well drive,' he said.
'I'd MUCH RATHER walk,' she asserted, with emphasis.
'You would!
Then I will come along with you.