Kitty saw that the point of the letter lay in the definite date set for the invitation. Mrs. Garstin had no intention of being saddled with a widowed daughter in modest circumstances. It was singular, when she reflected how her mother had idolised her, that now, disappointed in her, she found her merely a nuisance. How strange was the relation between parents and children! When they were small the parents doted on them, passed through agonies of apprehension at each childish ailment, and the children clung to their parents with love and adoration; a few years passed, the children grew up, and persons not of their kin were more important to their happiness than father or mother. Indifference displaced the blind and instinctive love of the past. Their meetings were a source of boredom and irritation. Distracted once at the thought of a month’s separation they were able now to look forward with equanimity to being parted for years. Her mother need not worry: as soon as she could she would make herself a home of her own. But she must have a little time; at present everything was vague and she could not form any picture of the future: perhaps she would die at childbirth; that would be a solution of many difficulties.
But when they docked two letters were handed to her. She was surprised to recognise her father’s writing: she did not remember that he had ever written to her. He was not effusive, and began: dear Kitty. He told her that he was writing instead of her mother who had not been well and was obliged to go into a nursing home to have an operation. Kitty was not to be frightened and was to keep to her intention of going round by sea; it was much more expensive to come across by land and with her mother away it would be inconvenient for Kitty to stay at the house in Harrington Gardens. The other was from Doris; it started: Kitty darling, not because Doris had any particular affection for her, but because it was her way thus to address everyone she knew.
Kitty darling,
I expect Father has written to you. Mother has got to have an operation. It appears that she has been rotten for the last year, but you know she hates doctors and she’s been taking all sorts of patent medicines. I don’t quite know what’s the matter with her as she insists on making a secret of the whole thing and flies into a passion if you ask her questions. She has been looking simply awful and if I were you I think I’d get off at Marseilles and come back as quick as you can. But don’t let on that I told you to come as she pretends there’s nothing much the matter with her and she doesn’t want you to get here till she’s back at home. She’s made the doctors promise that she shall be moved in a week. Best love.
Kitty lost in reflection, stood for a little while on the deck. She could not imagine her mother ill. She never remembered to have seen her other than active and resolute; she had always been impatient of other people’s ailments. Then a steward came up to her with a telegram.
Deeply regret to inform you that your mother died this morning. Father.
LXXIX
Kitty rang the bell at the house in Harrington Gardens. She was told that her father was in his study and going to the door she opened it softly: he was sitting by the fire reading the last edition of the evening paper. He looked up as she entered, put down the paper, and sprang nervously to his feet.
“Oh, Kitty, I didn’t expect you till the later train.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want the bother of coming to meet me so I didn’t wire the time I expected to arrive.”
He gave her his cheek to kiss in the manner she so well remembered.
“I was just having a look at the paper,” he said. “I haven’t read the paper for the last two days.”
She saw that he thought it needed some explanation if he occupied himself with the ordinary affairs of life.
“Of course,” she said. “You must be tired out. I’m afraid mother’s death has been a great shock to you.”
He was older, and thinner than when she had last seen him. A little, lined, dried-up man, with a precise manner.
“The surgeon said there had never been any hope. She hadn’t been herself for more than a year, but she refused to see a doctor. The surgeon told me that she must have been in constant pain, he said it was a miracle that she had been able to endure it.”
“Did she never complain?”
“She said she wasn’t very well. But she never complained of pain.” He paused and looked at Kitty. “Are you very tired after your journey?”
“Not very.”
“Would you like to go up and see her?”
“Is she here?”
“Yes, she was brought here from the nursing home.”
“Yes, I’ll go now.”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
There was something in her father’s tone that made her look at him quickly. His face was slightly turned from her; he did not want her to catch his eye. Kitty had acquired of late a singular proficiency at reading the thoughts
