“Yes. We aren’t really at home to visitors,” said Winifred.
“You’re not? Then I’m an intruder?”
For once he felt his conventional dress was out of place, he was an outsider.
Gudrun was very quiet. She did not feel drawn to talk to him. At this stage, silence was best—or mere light words. It was best to leave serious things aside. So they talked gaily and lightly, till they heard the man below lead out the horse, and call it to “back-back!” into the dog-cart that was to take Gudrun home. So she put on her things, and shook hands with Gerald, without once meeting his eyes. And she was gone.
The funeral was detestable. Afterwards, at the tea-table, the daughters kept saying—“He was a good father to us—the best father in the world”—or else—“We shan’t easily find another man as good as father was.”
Gerald acquiesced in all this. It was the right