'Poor little Cherry! I'll come when I can see her in greater peace, but I must buckle to with the beginning of the year, Fee.'
There was no further disputing the point, but Edgar was always a great loss. To every one except Clement he was so gentle and considerate that it was impossible not to think that the strange things reported of him were not first evoked and then exaggerated by the zeal of the model chorister: and indeed he led Geraldine to that inference when he went to her in the sitting-room, where, as before, she had to remain at home.
'My Cherry, I find I must go back with old Tom. Don't be vexed, my White-heart, I am not going back to Belgium, you know: I can often run down, but my work ought to begin with the year.'
'You cannot even stay over the Epiphany!'
'Well, I would have made an effort, but I am really wanted; and then if I am long with that light of the church, Tina, he will get me into everybody's black books. Never mind, old girl. I'll be for ever running down. Is any one going to stay with you?'
'Bernard is coming presently; I must try to make him recollect something about it.'
'You don't mean that child Angel is going.'
'Right to leave a black spot in her memory! If children could but believe people were sublimated away!'
'Children can believe in the Resurrection of the body as well as we,' said Cherry reverently.
'Better, too, by a long chalk,' he muttered; then perceiving her dismayed expression, he added, 'No, no--I'm not talking to Tina, only he has put me in the humour in which there is nothing he could not make me dispute--even my Cherry being the sweetest morsel in the world. There, good-bye for the present, only don't afflict that poor little Bernard and yourself into _too_ great wretchedness, out of a sense of duty.'
'No, I do not really grieve,' said Cherry. 'Tears come for thankfulness. The real sorrow came long ago; we grew up in it, and it is over now.'
'Right, little one. The mortal coil was very heavy and painful these last years, and no one can help being relieved that the end has come. It is the conventionalities that are needlessly distressing. What earthly purpose can it serve, save the amusement of the maids and children of Bexley, that nine of us should present ourselves a pitiful spectacle all the way up to the cemetery in veils and hat-bands?'